


Match Your Weakness With A Name

by kellallyourfriends



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorder, M/M, Self-Harm, there's more probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 36,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellallyourfriends/pseuds/kellallyourfriends
Summary: Geoff's an inexperienced lifeguard with a deep, dark secret he doesn't dare tell his friends: he's gayer than Neil Patrick Harris riding Nyan Cat's rainbow dick through the sky while making out with hot shirtless alien men. Awsten's a model on hiatus who hasn't worn short sleeves since November. One chance encounter at the Houston Community Pool could mean absolutely nothing...or it could change their lives forever. Given that this is a gay fanfic written by a queer hormonal teenage boy, the second option is more likely.If you need anything tagged as triggering, tell your favorite Internet homo (me) and I'll tag it.





	1. One?

"Hey! No running on the pool deck!"

Sweat runs down my face, though I am sitting still in my lifeguard chair. It's hot out. It's expected to be the hottest week of summer. The fact that school's barely ended and we're not even two weeks into June has nothing to do with it. No. The weather just decided to fuck us all over. 

And these kids. My god. You'd think these parents would have a handle on their children, given that they took them to a freaking pool, but I guess not. I mean, a few screaming children I can handle (a la previous job), especially if they have reasons, but if everyone is screaming for varying reasons, I don't know who's dying and who I can ignore. 

A family of three walks through the pool gates. It's a mother and two young children, presumably hers. She leads them over to a bench, drops her heap of towels there, and turns back around to the gates. Her kids don't follow. They run for the diving board. 

I roll my eyes and point my focus on the mother. "Hey, ma'am?" I yell. "Are you going to leave your kids here?"

She wheels around. "Yes," she shouts back. "Is that a problem?"

"You can't leave children under fourteen unsupervised. I'm sorry. It's a safety rule."

After glancing toward the kids, as though wondering if she could get away with telling me they were fourteen, she sighs and returns to the bench. Moments later, a group of rough-housing teenagers splash a large amount of water at her feet, and I smile to myself upon seeing her face. I often wonder how these people come to the pool and expect to stay completely dry.

The girls who were running on deck earlier are now examining the pool cover. I pray they don't do anything ridiculous. It'd somehow be my fault if they did. 

God, I hate this job.

The pool gates swing open again, and I brace myself for the worst, but it's not a nightmare family this time. Instead, it's two guys my own age, maybe a bit younger. The taller of the two is much more eye-catching than the other, or maybe that's just me. I mean, he is the only one here wearing long sleeves. I may have seen him on a magazine cover. He's skinny. Too skinny. He's clutching the smaller guy's arm for dear life, and the smaller guy doesn't seem to mind at all. The two of them walk over to one of the secluded benches in the shade, and the taller one sits down on the edge as the smaller one unpacks a massive bag of towels, sunblock, and who-knows-what-else. They make conversation with each other. I don't pay attention to their words.

It's kinda cute, I notice as the smaller one takes off his shirt, how the taller boy's hair is bleached at the ends and flared out, like Alex Gaskarth's was around 2005. He still hasn't taken off his sweater. It's over a hundred degrees out. Is he going to keep it on all day?

The smaller one makes his way over to the diving board, yet the taller one stays on the bench. This is the point at which I realize I am staring, and quickly look away, toward the pool itself. It's not as interesting as staring at the boy. 

Some mom has busted out floaties, and half the occupants of the pool are gathered around her, clamoring for one. The other half, mostly teenagers, have basically blocked off one side of the pool and are playing some sort of diving game. Both of these things are against the pool rules. But what am I going to do about it? Yelling "Everyone at this pool is breaking a rule!" would make me sound like a teacher, and it's summer. We're supposed to be done with teachers. So I stay put and place my head in my hands.

I hear a soft chuckle off to the side, and look up and around.

The boy has caught sight of me, possibly realized my dilemma, and is smiling widely in my direction. I glance to my other side, wondering if he may be looking at someone else. There's no one there. He's looking at me. 

As an attempt to be "cool", I smile back and gesture toward the pool, like "these guys." He nods and shrugs his shoulders, raising his arms in a "who knows?" position.

I shrug back and turn my attention back to the pool. The girls from earlier are running around on the deck again. "No running on the pool deck," I order again, but they seem to disregard.

I sigh and turn back to the boy. He has shifted on the bench so he is now sitting cross-legged, facing out toward the pool. He is no longer looking at me. Instead, his attention is directed to the other guy, the one he came in with. I wonder if they are dating.

Suddenly, my chair shakes, and I look down. One of the girls is yanking on the metal beams holding it up. "Excuse me," I say. She looks up at me. "Can you, um, not do that?" I ask.

She simply laughs and jerks the beam again. The chair lurches dangerously, and I worry it'll fall. "Please, stop that," I try again. 

The only response I get is another giggle as she continues to mess with the beam. I wonder if she's doing it on purpose. Maybe she wants me to fall, because I told off her and her friends for running.

My chair tips to the left, and I don't exactly realize I am falling over until the chair lands on its side and my hand slams against the concrete deck. When that happens, I am certain I've broken it. It hurts, but I don't let on, having noticed I have an audience. 

It seems I have attracted the attention of all the pool-goers. Dimly, I wonder if now is a good time to tell them they're doing everything wrong. Then someone touches my face, and I jump.

It's Sweater Boy. My breath catches in my throat. I almost forgot he was here.

"Dude, are you okay?" he says, and I tilt my head up to look him in the eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good," I say, attempting to maneuver out of my chair prison with my good hand. It works, after a few awkward moments that I really hope nobody remembers from that day. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Oh, sure," says the boy.

"Can you go to that office-" I point to the lifeguards' office, "and ask for Derek?" I request, casually holding my injured hand.

"Of course," he says, and meanders over to the office. He walks strangely, like his legs are unusually weak.

Again, I turn to the pool. Everyone is staring at me. I realize this is a good opportunity to be sassy. "Now that I have your attention," I say, as though the whole thing was on purpose, "You should probably put the floaties away and stop with the diving game before Derek gets out here. He's not nice like me."

Reluctantly, the kids begin to hand the toys back to the mom, the teenagers gather in a cluster and speak in hushed voices, presumably deciding what to do now, and the boy in the sweater returns with Derek at his side. I resist the urge to yell "YO, D-BAG, WHAT THE FUCK'S UP!" and wave at them with my good hand.

"Hey, Geoff," says Derek as he arrives. "What exactly happened?"

"Nothing too bad," I say. "But I do need you to cover the rest of my shift."

"Will do," he says, almost happily. "Hey, why is the lifeguard chair on its side?"

I tell him. "...and I've probably broken my hand," I finish.

"Ah," he says. "Yeah, go take the rest of the day off. Jenna won't mind."

"Thanks," I say, and turn to Sweater Boy. "And thanks to you, too."

He smiles shyly. "'Welcome."

"Hey, what's your name?" I ask.

"Um, Awsten," he replies. "It's spelled weird, though...A-W-S-T-E-N."

"Hey, at least it's spelled phonetically," I say. "People never pronounce my name right."

"Why, what's your name?"

"Geoff. G-E-O-F-F," I say, trailing off slightly as my hand throbs like how I wish someone would make my dick. "Anyway, I really should go."

"Oh, hell yeah," says Awsten. "Sorry for delaying."

"No, you're fine," I say as I start to make my way to the office. Derek waves at me, probably not too sorry to see me go, as he actually likes his job.

I pass by Jenna on the way in. She looks at me weird, but I don't care. All I'm worried about at the moment is getting my phone so I can call one of my friends to take me to the hospital. Can't drive one-handed, after all. I'd die. 

As I search for the locker room, I wonder what else this job has in store for me. It's only my first day.


	2. Two?

Jenna called me after her shift yesterday to inform me that I did have to come to work today, though I wasn't going to actually do any guarding of lives. She told me I could just do the paperwork instead. I'm getting paid, so of course I didn't turn it down, but I am not looking forward to it.

I amble through the pool gates at eleven fifty-four, trying not to be too much of an annoyance to the people in the water. They'd hate me if I even so much as looked at them, probably. Derek has taken over my position. I wave at him with my good hand and resume my standard stare-at-your-feet posture.

"Hey."

I look up. It's Sweater Boy. Awsten. Him. He's here again. It occurs to me that he might be one of the "regulars", as Derek calls them.

"I like your shirt."

"Oh." I glance down at the Cobra Starship shirt I'd decided to wear that morning for some reason. "You listen to them?"

"No, I just liked the design," he says, smiling and rolling his eyes. "Duh. They're one of my favorite bands."

"Really?" I say, moving closer to him, so as to not be in the way of the kids running on the deck. Derek's going to chew them out soon enough anyway. "I wouldn't call them my favorite, but they're up there."

"I'm in love with Gabe Saporta," he proclaims, and I laugh. I wonder if he means that in a gay way.

"Me too."

His smile suddenly loses some of its glow. "Oh. Dang. I just realized. Am I making you late?"

"Uh, kind of," I say, "but it's fine. Jenna doesn't listen to Cobra Starship."

"How's your hand, by the way?"

I look down at my cast awkwardly. "Broken. At least it's not my right hand."

"You're very good at pretending you're not in pain," he says. I don't know whether that's a compliment or not.

"Anyway, I should get going, or Jenna will whip my ass for being late." For some reason, I feel bad for having to leave him alone. I've only just met him. It should be fine, just letting him be, but it's not.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for holding you up," he responds. "But if you give me your phone number, we don't have to stop being fanboys." He flashes me an exaggerated seductive grin, and I can't help but return it.

"Sure." I pull out my phone, and we exchange numbers.

We say our final goodbyes, and I head off to the office, a lot happier with my current work situation than I was five minutes ago. At least now I have something to take the edge off the mind-numbing pain of filling out paperwork for at least two hours. And maybe Awsten will enjoy it, too. Yesterday he seemed pretty bored, just sitting there on the bench by himself.

Jenna smiles at me on my way in. "Hey, Geoff. How're you doing?"

"Uh," I say. "Pretty good. You?"

"Good as well," she says. "Actually...not really."

"Why, what's up?" I ask.

"I have a crush," she admits.

"Really?" I say absently, searching for the papers I'm supposed to be sorting. "Tell me about them."

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" I nod and she continues. "He's a regular here, has been for a couple months now. I swear I'd seen him before that, though. I don't even know his name, because he hardly ever talks to the staff, but he's just so cute. I wish I could talk to him."

"Is he here now?" I ask. "Point him out to me."

She hustles over to the window of the office, pulls the blinds up slightly, and beckons for me to follow her. I join her by the window and peer out at the pool. "Him," she whispers, and points to Awsten.

My mouth goes dry for some reason, and I pull away, trying not to let on. "Oh. Him," I comment. "I talked to him yesterday."

She jolts back from the blinds and grabs my shoulders. "You did?" she shrieks. "What did he say?"

I flinch, my heart beginning to race. "Don't touch me."

"Sorry," she says, taking her hands off my shoulders and backing up a bit. She opens her mouth to speak again, and I quickly cross my fingers behind my back, praying she doesn't ask why. My prayers are answered, and all she says is, "But what did he say?"

"Uh, he asked me if I was okay, and I told him to go get Derek," I say, conveniently leaving out the part where I now know his name and phone number.

"Oh," she says, sounding disappointed. "Did you find out his name?"

I decide to lie and say I didn't.

"Well," she sighs, "we have paperwork to do."

It's about time, I think to myself as I pull out the files from the cabinet. I have a cute boy to text.

I get out my phone and see that I already have two messages from Awsten.

A: Hello again!

A: You there?

I quickly text back.

G: Yeah, I am. Sorry about that. Jenna held me up.

A: Oh, dang. Anyway, Cobra Starship.

G: Hell yes! What's your favorite album?

We continue like that for a good half hour or so. Awsten's favorite album is Viva La Cobra, while I'm more partial to While The City Sleeps, We Rule The Streets, but he is just as hyped as I am, maybe more, for their new album. He describes "Good Girls Go Bad" as his "shove-it-up-my-ass party song I'd like to fuck me sideways on a picnic table in the middle of Chuck E. Cheese." To each his own, I suppose.

"Are you texting someone?"

I look up at Jenna sheepishly. "Yeah."

"Who?" she probes.

"Uh, one of my friends," I respond. Not a lie. Not the whole truth. It's just what you do.

"Alrighty, then," she quips, and turns back to her paperwork. I resume my conversation with Awsten, who has changed the subject to his pets.

A: I love dogs but the ones I have SUCK.

A: My cat is beautiful though.

Goddamn it, he's so cute.

G: Tell me about your cat.

He spends the next five minutes writing a thousand-word essay on why his cat is the greatest. I don't mind. It's quite cute how he's so passionate about an animal, and it gives me an excuse to set my phone down and sort some papers while Awsten types. I mean, I hate sorting papers, but someone has to do it, and better someone with a broken hand than someone who's actually capable of guarding lives. 

Did that make sense?

We go on talking like stealthy high-schoolers in class, but instead of sneaking in messages between work, I sneak in work between messages. It's fun. It's more fun than I've had in a long time. We talk about the most random things, from concerts to YouTube to global warming to Christmas. He's so much more interesting than me.

At around two, Awsten sends me this:

A: Otto's getting tired, which means I have to go home now.

G: Oh, okay. Who's Otto again?

A: My friend. He likes the pool. I don't. But he's the only way I'll get out of the house all summer, probably.

That's a bit out of the ordinary, but I don't question further. I figure if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me. 

A: I'm sorry.

G: It's fine! Don't worry about it. Have a good one.

A: Text me later?

G: I'll text you later.

He doesn't respond, and I put my phone in my pocket after about five minutes. Time to dive headfirst into the massive stack of papers I still have yet to organize!

"Geoff, is this you?"

I jerk my head up. Jenna is holding up a paper titled "Applicants 2008." As I lean in closer to get a better look, she points at the bottom of the list. My name is on there, with a line drawn through it in red pen. "Wigington, Geoff."

"Oh, uh, yeah, it is," I say. 

"You applied last year, too?" she asks. "Why didn't you make the cut? Did they tell you?"

She asks too many questions. "Uh, it's a bit personal, but I got busted for something when I went to get my clearance form." 

"What'd you get busted for?"

"I'd-I don't like to talk about it." I turn back to my own work, hoping she'll get the message, but she apparently doesn't.

"Don't worry, I won't judge," she says, smiling condescendingly. "You can tell me anything."

"Uh, thanks, but it's really personal," I repeat. "I said I don't like to talk about it." 

At this point, I expect her to continue to pry, but she simply sighs and resumes her sorting. I swear I hear a soft, "Fine, be like that," escape her lips, but I don't let on. I simply continue to flip through my stack of papers, trying to think about anything but what happened last year. I'm better now, I think to myself. That was in the past and I don't have to worry about it anymore.

Right? Right.


	3. Three? Really?

I am thinking about something Awsten sent me earlier as I pull up in my driveway, clumsily parking the car with my good hand. My music is probably so loud my aunt and uncle can hear it from the house. I don't care. They know I'm home now. 

The CD ejects itself as the car shuts off. I place it in its case and get out. It is four in the afternoon and my sister is probably home already; she doesn't have a job, but her social life is much more active than mine. She's usually out until three or so, cruising the city streets with her aesthetic friends. Then she goes out again at seven, to a party of some sort with her asshole friends. I'm not like her. People say we don't even look like siblings.

She opens the door just as I am about to knock. "Hello," she greets. "How was work today?"

"Uh, decent, actually," I say as I walk inside. "I got a boy's number."

"Really?" she asks. "Is he cute?"

"Yes, very," I say. "Uh, he and I texted for ages while I was sorting papers in the office."

My aunt and uncle are snuggled up to each other on the couch, watching a football game. "Rebecca," says my aunt, "can you get us some more lemonade? And get some for you and Geoff as well."

I try to protest, but my sister cuts me off with "Sure," and heads over to the kitchen.

I take a few steps in the general direction of the stairs, but my aunt calls out my name and I stop. 

"Yes?" I say.

"Honey, come sit down with us," invites my aunt, gesturing to the couch.

"Uh, okay." I walk over to the couch and take a seat next to her.

"David, turn off the television," she commands, and my uncle fumbles with the remote for a good thirty seconds before the football game stops.

Oh, god. It's getting serious. "Uh, what's this about?" I ask, wondering I could have done this time.

Rebecca comes back with four glasses of lemonade balanced precariously on a dinner plate. My aunt takes one and turns to me. "Don't worry, honey, you're not in trouble. We just need to have a little coversation."

"Uh, please, just tell me what I did," I say, having had "little conversations" before, the last one ultimately resulting in the literal slow ruining of my life.

"Geoff, relax. You haven't done anything," cuts in Rebecca. "They literally just want to talk to you. It won't be like last time, I swear." I don't believe her, and attempt to say so, but nothing's coming out and I can't seem to get the words in the right order.

My aunt places her hand on my shoulder, and I flinch. The last thing I need right now is for someone to touch me out of nowhere. "Honey, it's okay," she says. "Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths."

I inhale, trying to regain control. "Think about Cobra Starship," says Rebecca, and it helps. It helps more than breathing.

"Are you alright now?" asks my aunt, and I nod. I'm more or less alright. "Great!" she exclaims, clapping her hands. "Okay, now, honey, we just want to know what's been going on in your life lately."

"Uh, are you kidding me?" I say. "I freaked out over that?"

My aunt leans back on the couch and glances toward my uncle, before turning back to me. "We're concerned, honey. We just want to know how you've been doing."

"Uh...I dunno," I say, "I haven't been doing much that you don't know about. Um, I made some friends at work?"

"Yes, honey," my aunt says, "that's good, and we're proud of you, but how have you been feeling lately? You seem...unusually moody, not like your normal self, and we're worried about you."

"Aunt Nicole, I'm fine," I say. They're all staring at me now, and it's making me uncomfortable. "I'm just a bit stressed over some things, but I can handle that on my own. You don't need to worry about me."

"Do you need to start seeing a therapist again, honey?" she asks. "Because we can get you back in therapy if you need that."

"No! I said I'm fine, and I am!" I say. "You have no reason to be worried. There's nothing going on with me that I can't handle by myself."

"Well, if you say so..." she says, "But we're just a bit concerned, given that the anniversary is coming up-"

"Don't talk about that," I snap, and everyone suddenly freezes at my tone, as if it's threatening. To be honest, they deserve it. They're the ones who brought it up. "That was in the past and I never want to think about it again. It doesn't need an anniversary, it doesn't need to be remembered, and we could all do some good in the world by shutting up about it."

"But, honey-"

"I said I'm fine. Now leave me alone." I stand up and stalk angrily away from the couch, and head up the stairs. My legs hurt a bit, because it's actually pretty hard to walk up stairs angrily, but I do it regardless just to spite my aunt and uncle. I told them I was fine, but now I have to act fine.

My bedroom is a bedroom. There's nothing remotely special abut it. It's where I sleep, and where my computer is, and where I hang my posters. Also where I hide from my family when they get a bit too nosy. I still haven't unpacked completely, even though it's been a year since Rebecca and I moved in. 

I slam the door behind me when I enter and sit down on my bed, my anger dissipating. Rebecca will be up here in a few minutes, pounding on my door, I'm sure of it, but I don't care. I can find some way to head her off. In the meantime, I drag myself over to my CD shelf and flick through it, searching for something I haven't listened to in a while and can play really loud. In a matter of seconds, I find it: Folie A Deux, Fall Out Boy's most recent-uh, concoction, the record I only have because my one remaining friend at the time gave it to me.

Clumsily, I pick it up off the shelf and place it in my CD player, turning the volume up almost all the way. The first song starts, the one I can never remember the name of, and I lie back on my bed and wait for it to get to the fast part. While slow songs are pretty and give you a sense of security and shit, they don't drown out your racing thoughts half as well as fast ones.

Rebecca bangs on my door. I yell "Give me some space," and she stops. She may still be waiting outside, but she won't try to come in.

The song speeds up, and I start to enjoy it. Not enough to learn the name, but it's a half-decent song. I can't understand a word the singer is saying, though, and I probably won't remember how the song goes if someone asks me later.

My phone buzzes on my bedside table, startling me and jerking me out of my pathetic excuse for a jam session. I reach over for it and check my messages.

It's from Awsten.

A: Hey, sorry about that! Something came up, and I thought I was going to get back to you sooner, but I guess not! How's it going?

I scramble to type a reply.

G: It's fine. I totally understand. I'm slightly pissed at my aunt right now, but otherwise it's going well.

A: Oh, damn, why are you pissed at your aunt?

G: She brought up something I could do without thinking about. I'm fine now, though. I'm listening to Fall Out Boy.

A: I love Fall Out Boy! Patrick Stump is my actual son. What song are you listening to?

Shit. Now I have to learn the name of this song. I grope around on the table until I find the CD case, and flip it over to see the track listing.

G: Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes. 

A: You're listening to Folie! That one's my favorite. I want to shove it up my ass even farther than "Good Girls Go Bad" and that's saying something.

G: Me too! Folie's not my all-time favorite, but it's definitely up there.

Why did I say that? I haven't listened to this album since the day it came out, when Jawn hauled me over to his house, put it on repeat, and proceeded to buy me a copy. I put it on once and never again. Maybe it's Awsten. 

(Maybe it's Maybelline.)

A: What is your favorite album of all time? Every time I ask you about an album, it's never your all-time favorite, "but it's up there." 

I laugh out loud, hoping Rebecca's not still out there.

G: Nimrod, by Green Day. Or A Fever You Can't Sweat Out.

A: A Fever You Can't Sweat Out? As in Panic! at the Disco?

G: Yeah.

A: Oh god, I'm so emo. I love Panic!.

G: I just really like that one album.

A: What? What's wrong with Pretty. Odd.?

The song changes, and luckily, it's the sassy one I remember liking the first time I listened to this album. It's a good thing, too, because the mention of Pretty. Odd. nowadays makes me shudder. But I can't tell Awsten that, or he'll think I'm weird. So I take the "vague" route.

G: Too many memories. I associate it with something that happened to me last year. It helped while it lasted, though. 

A: Oh, I get it. I can't really listen to 21st Century Breakdown anymore for that reason.

He doesn't get it. I know he doesn't get it. 

Or maybe he does. After all, he just doesn't stop surprising me. I have to have a real conversation with him sometime, one that's not just over text. I need to get to know him better. A lot better.

But that's a problem for another day, I think, then mentally slap myself. Nothing will get done if I use that excuse. So I begin to formulate an actual plan.

Another day, as in, tomorrow. I'm gonna...ask him out tomorrow.

Why ask him out? For one, if he slaps me and calls me a faggot, then I'll know he's like all the other Texas boys, and I'll never speak to him again. If he turns me down politely, then I know he's a good human being.

And if he says yes, then I've got a date with a cute, gay, pop-punk boy.


	4. Four? Are You Sure?

The next day at work I make damn sure I get there ten minutes early. I'm gonna ask out a guy I met two days ago, and I might literally die. Not "literally" as in how most people use it to mean "figuratively," but "literally" as in Awsten might turn out to be a homophobic shitbag and actually murder me. Maybe I should be worried.

A guy I hardly recognize is on duty, which means Derek must be scrubbing the locker room floor, which also means I would be scrubbing that same floor had I not broken my hand. Jenna asked me yesterday if she and I could switch mundane office tasks. I agreed to that, not knowing that I would have to take phone calls. 

But now I have to take phone calls, and it sucks, because I can't distract myself this time, unless I'm lucky and it's a slow day. As I look out at the pool, I get a hunch that the odds will be in my favor. There's barely anyone there.

Of course, Awsten and his small friend are there, just like they always are. Awsten's wearing a different color sweater today. It's green and a bit too big on him. He looks good in green. His small friend who may or may not have a name is already in the pool. I smile upon seeing them and meander up to him.

"Hey, G-spot," he says, and I crack up. "Can I call you G-spot?"

I laugh harder and shake my head. 

"Damn it!" he exclaims. "I had a whole future planned out where you changed your name legally to G-spot."

I freeze. He had a whole future involving me planned out in his mind? He thought about me when we weren't texting? It seems unfair to crush his dreams like that.

"I'm kidding," he says, and I relax. "I did spend a long time trying to make your name into something sexual, though."

"Uh, I'm sorry," I say, "but imagine what that would look like on my college application."

"'Hi, my name is G-spot...'" He trails off. "What's your last name?"

"Wigington."

"'Hi, my name is G-spot Wigington, and I'm applying for Harvard.'" He grins wildly, and I can't help but share it. I almost forget what I came to do.

"Well, anyway," I say, my smile fading slightly "Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to...you know...go out sometime?"

"Oh. Oh, dang," he says, dropping the grin completely. Have I fucked up? Oh no. I totally have. I try to explain.

"Like, not anything serious, just...I was hoping we could talk face-to-face without, you know, a time constraint and several thousand little kids running around behind us." I gesture to the pool deck, where there is only one little kid running around behind us, but I think he gets it.

"I'm-um, uh," he pauses, "I'm really sorry if I'm being rude, by the way. I'm trying to work things out in my head, and..."

"Oh, it's all good," I say, resisting the urge to add "I'm much worse than you."

"It's just...my parents are really over-protective," he says, "and they definitely wouldn't let me...unless I make up some elaborate lie, which I can probably do."

"You're down with that?" I ask, and he nods.

"Yeah, I've done it before. So, long story short, yes, I would like to go out with you," he says, regaining the smile. "Let's see...I've got a doctor's appointment Saturday, but I'm free all day Sunday, if you're good."

"Uh, I have the day off Sunday," I say. "I'll come get you...around twelve?"

"Actually, can we make that two? I might sleep past twelve. You can surprise me. I'm down for almost anything," he says.

"Almost anything?" I ask. "What are you not down for?"

"Well, I'll probably already've had lunch, so don't, like, get me a seven-course meal. And, you know, don't get too intimate." I shudder slightly, nodding, and he changes the subject. "Your parents will be fine with it, right?"

"Uh..." Be vague. "I don't live with my parents anymore, but my aunt and uncle won't mind."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't've assumed..." He trails off. 

"No, it's fine," I say. "You're neither the first nor the last."

He chuckles. "Anyway, I'll text you my address later, and tell my family Otto got a new car."

"Otto! That's the name of your...uh...small friend," I say, and he snorts.

"I am one-hundred-percent telling him you said that," he says. I smile, blushing, and he goes on. "Anyway, you should go. You don't want that Jenna character chewing you out."

I nod and say my goodbyes, and head off to the office of death.

Oh, right. Jenna has a crush on Awsten. I forgot about that.

When I enter the office, she is already going through a massive fucking stack of papers. She looks up at me as I walk in, and boy, she does not look happy.

"Hey," I venture, taking a seat by the phone. "How's it going?"

"Fuck you!" she yells, and I gasp slightly.

"Uh, what did I do?" I stammer.

"Guess what I overheard when I came in today?" she snaps.

"What?" I ask, praying she didn't find my medical records. It's unlikely, but it could happen. You don't know.

"My crush, the guy I pointed out yesterday, was talking to his friend about their own crushes, but they weren't talking about girls. They were talking about guys!" She takes a deep breath and goes on. "And that's not all. You know what else they brought up?"

"Uh, what else did they bring up?" I say nervously.

"You," she snarls. "The guy's friend was teasing him about his 'lifeguard boyfriend,' and he laughed and said-and I remember it exactly-'As much as I'd like that, Geoff and I are just friends.' Can you believe that?"

"Uh..." I wonder if I should tell her.

"Well, can you?" she shouts, and I make up my mind.

"Yeah, actually, I can," I say. "I just asked him out, and he said yes."

"You what?!" She slams her papers down on the floor, and I flinch. "And he said what?!"

She's so angry, and it scares me when people are that angry. I try to back up, but I'm sitting and there's nowhere to go. My heart starts to race. "Uh-"

"Geoff Wigington, I can't believe you! I told you I had a crush on him, and you went ahead and asked him out? I hate you!"

She's yelling at me. I look around nervously, like there's going to be somewhere I can hide, even though it's a lifeguard office and I'm stuck in the corner, between the reception desk and the wall. I wish she would stop yelling; I can't afford to freak out now. "Jenna, please," I murmur. "Chill."

"Chill? Chill? How can I 'chill' when you totally double-crossed me?"

I knew this would happen. It happened the last time I asked a boy out. The motives are different: Jenna doesn't seem to care that it's a boy, just that it's Awsten specifically, but the outcome is the same. I'm trapped. My breathing increases rapidly, and my vision starts to blur. Am I crying? No. I can't be. I can't cry in front of Jenna. I cover my face with my good arm and try to breathe. I'm so weak, and I hate it. 

"Geoff?"

She says my name like she's just now noticed I'm losing it, though by now I am past the point of calming down. I'm definitely crying, now, I can feel the tears on my arms, and my breathing's out of control. I can't seem to get enough air. My heart is beating so fast I fear my veins will explode, but not as fast as my thoughts are racing, jumping from memory to memory, some sharp and stabbing, and some more of a dull ache, but all of them memories I wish weren't in my head.

"Geoff, are you okay?"

I shudder. She is no longer yelling, but it's still too loud for me somehow. I look up at her, but I don't see her, I see my parents, my mother's arms crossed and my father holding the belt, and it's 2008 again. It's Jenna, I tell myself. You only met Jenna last week. You don't have to worry about your parents anymore.

"Geoff?"

I breathe deeply, and find myself actually able to do so. "I'm okay," I say, well aware that I don't look okay, by any stretch of the imagination. "I'm just..."

"Don't worry, I won't ask," she says, and I manage a small smile. "I set that off, didn't I?"

"Um, yeah."

"I'm really sorry," she says. "I didn't know that would happen."

"It's fine," I reply, mentally cursing as my voice cracks slightly. "Like you said, you didn't know, and I suppose it's partially my fault for not telling you how messed up I am." I brace myself for the insults that usually come after this admittance.

"What should I do if it happens again?" she asks, and I sigh in relief. I'm not about to be made fun of. She's not as much of a bitch as I thought she was.

"Uh, remind me what year it is," I say. "That usually helps. And don't touch me."

"Good to know," she says, and I nod. "Do you need anything else? Some water, or..."

"I'm good," I respond.

"I'm gonna get you some water anyway." She hustles out of the office and returns a few moments later holding a small paper cup. Glancing up at me, she sets it on the desk next to the phone, and I pick it up, trying not to look too eager. I take a few sips, pausing in between each one in case the phone rings. It hasn't rung yet today, but I only just got here. 

Jenna goes back to her papers, and I go back to staring at the phone, waiting for someone to call so I don't have to think about how much of a failure I am. Maybe I should go back into therapy.

I am making a note to myself to take that up with my aunt and uncle when the phone rings. Sighing, I pick it up and grope around on the desk for the script we're supposed to use for phone calls.

"Hello, this is the Houston Community Pool, how may we be of service to you?" I read off the page.

"Is your refrigerator running?" It's some eight-year-old, probably.

"No," I say, and hang up. 

This is gonna be a long day.


	5. Um, Five? What Is This?

I cannot wait for Sunday.

When Sunday does come, I cannot wait for two o'clock.

I am wearing the Cobra Starship shirt and grey skinny jeans, and I spent an unreasonable amount of time combing my hair into a semi-decent state. I'm so nervous. Rebecca can tell I'm nervous. She is washing the dishes from lunch, looking over at me on the couch every so often. She doesn't say anything, and I don't mind. 

I have the directions to his place printed out, and Awsten's favorite albums in my hand, so when the clock strikes one-thirty, I am ready to blast. His house isn't even that far away, but driving with one hand, though possible, takes considerably longer than normal. And if I'm late to this, the world will end.

To ensure the world doesn't end, I make sure I'm in the car by one-twenty-nine, and have it started up by one-thirty-one. Carefully, I back out of the driveway and follow the directions to his place. It's a relatively uninteresting drive. He lives on the outskirts of suburban Houston, where you can almost believe it's a small town.

Awsten's house is easily recognizable. It's the only two-story house on the street, and someone had decided to paint the exterior bright yellow. There are two massive oak trees growing in the front yard, and a large vacant lot to the left of the house. Some of the lot has been used for a garden, but a majority of the space is just untouched dirt and dead leaves.

The door to the house opens, and a lady pokes her head out. I wait for her to come out, but she doesn't, she just turns back and closes the door behind her. Moments later, the door opens again, and this time it's Awsten. Good. I am at the right house.

He waves to me, and I wave back. He's not wearing a sweater today-instead, he's wearing a red long-sleeved shirt and black jeans that look like they were supposed to be skinny jeans, but are still a bit too big for him. The bottom hems swish around his ankles as he walks up to my car, precariously unsteadily, like a newborn fawn. It's cute, in the way that newborn fawns are cute. You can't help but worry they'll fall and break their legs.

I am almost surprised when he makes it all the way to the curb without falling, and resist the urge to open the car door for him. I should be a gentleman, but I know he can do it himself. 

As he climbs into the passenger seat, his hair falls slightly into his eyes, and I wonder why I'm noticing all these random little things about him. Maybe it's because I'm closer to him now than I've been all week, and I can just see him better from here? And maybe the lighting is better here, too, because now I can tell his eyes are two different colors.

I couldn't see it at the pool, as the blazing sun was usually in my face, and both of us did more squinting than anything else, but here, in the shade, I can tell that one is green and one is blue. 

"So you've finally noticed?" he says, noticing me noticing.

I smile and look away. "Yeah. Your eyes are cool."

"Why, thank you," he says as he puts his seatbelt on. It draws the fabric of his shirt against his body, giving me a clear view of how skinny he is. The bottom of his ribcage is visible through the red fabric, and his hipbones jut out from his body, worryingly so. I hastily look away and start the car again.

"Uh, so...how's it going?" I ask, clumsily maneuvering the car out of the parking spot. "What'd you do yesterday?"

"Oh, I had a doctor's appointment," he says.

"How'd it go?" I ask, putting up an instinctive mental barrier. 

"Eh. Not good, not bad," he says. "I got lectured on taking better care of myself again, but at least I didn't have to take my clothes off."

"At least," I echo, searching my brain for something to say to make him smile again. "Want to listen to some music? I brought Folie A Deux."

"Hell yes!" he says, and I hand him the CD case. He places the CD in the slot and presses play, and as soon as the first song starts, he's cracked an Awsten grin, and I smile too. His smiles are contagious.

I drive through the city, retracing my steps to familiar territory. When I find a street I recognize, I turn onto it. Awsten turns the music up. The fourth song on the record has started. I don't remember the name of the song, but Awsten is singing along. His voice is quite nice. I would join him, but I don't remember the lyrics or the melody. 

We are nearing the destination when Awsten asks, "Hey, where are we going?"

"Uh, just some place I thought you'd like," I say. I am taking him to an arcade my last boyfriend and I used to sneak out to. We had fun there, and it was easier to cover up than, say, a dinner date. We could always pretend we were just bros hanging out. I still went there sometimes even after I broke up with that dirty, cheating asshole.

"What is this place?" asks Awsten with a smirk.

"It's a surprise," I say, returning the smirk.

"Oh, really?" he says.

"Uh, don't get too excited," I say. "It's nothing special. Just somewhere I like to go."

"Hey, if it means something to you, it means something to me," he says. "And besides, I rarely get taken places. I'd be honored if you took me to a murder scene."

"Unfortunately, I don't know of any murder scenes I could take you too," I joke as we turn onto the destination's street.

"I've never been to this part of Houston before," he says, looking out the car window.

"Uh, then I've succeeded at my surprise, because this is our street," I say as I scan the curb for parking spots. 

"Really?" he says, surprised.

I laugh. "Really."

There is an available parking spot a few buildings down from the arcade. I make a valiant attempt at parallel parking, decide mostly in the spot is good enough, and get out of the car. Awsten takes off his seatbelt, and I figure I should be a gentleman. I run around to the other side of the car and open the door for him. He chuckles and hauls himself out. 

He's so awkward. It's very cute.

"You didn't need to do that," he says, smiling.

"Yeah, right," I say, taking a few steps up the street. "Come on, it's this way." 

"I'm nervous," he says as he follows. 

"I'm not going to, like, kill you," I say, but I understand where he's coming from. I'm nervous too, though I don't admit it. 

"Glad we got that cleared up," he mocks, and I laugh.

We pass the cute vegan café, and the shady record shop, and we are standing in front of the arcade.

"Oh, this is cool," he says. 

"You think so?" I say. "I was worried you wouldn't like it."

"Are you kidding? I love places like this," he says.

I smile. "Let's go in, then."

I hold the door open for him. It may be unnecessary, but I have to assert my dominance somehow. The dude at the prize counter recognizes me at this point. 

"Hey, Geoff."

"Hi, Ty," I say, gesturing for Awsten to follow me as I walk up to the counter. 

"Who's this?" Ty asks, jerking a thumb toward Awsten.

"Awsten, this is Ty. Ty, this is Awsten." I lean in closer to Ty, in case any random passerby are listening, and whisper, "We're on a date."

"Oh, he's a new one, isn't he?" he says, and I pull out my wallet. "What'll it be?"

"Twelve," I say, and pass a twenty across the counter. Awsten is watching, mystified but fascinated. 

Ty hands me a large amount of game tokens and my change. I shove the change in my wallet and put it away. 

"Thanks," I say.

"Have fun, you two," says Ty, and I nod to him and turn to Awsten.

"Uh, what do you want to do first?" I ask, giving him half the game tokens. 

"What?" he says. "I don't know. What do you do when you come here?"

"Uh, nerd stuff," I admit.

"Then let's do your nerd stuff," he says, and I laugh. 

"You sure about that?" I ask.

"I trust you," he says. 

"Well, that's a mistake," I say, but lead him over to the section of the arcade I go to most often.

It's the snack bar. No, I'm kidding. It's the games no one but me seems to have any interest in playing. Some of them I can't play, because they're two-player, and my last boyfriend never wanted to play them. I know other people play them, but I always seem to be the only one when I come.

"Uh, this is what I do," I say, gesturing to the games.

Awsten goes right up to them. I brace for him to make fun of me, but he doesn't. He stops at one of the two-players, and says, "I challenge you to this one."

I smile. "Hmm. Let me think about that."

He bites his lip and starts running his hands up and down the machine seductively.

"Okay, challenge accepted!" I say. "Just...please don't do any unspeakable things to the games. We might have to pay extra."

"Whatever, killjoy," he jokes, and I start the game.

He wins the first round, which is surprising, considering he's never been to this arcade before. I quickly catch up to him, though, and win both the second and third rounds. We move on to another game, and when we've played that one, another. Awsten still seems to be having fun after the sixth one. I consider this to be a good sign. 

We run out of game tokens at around five. By then, Awsten and I have amassed an unreasonable amount of prize tickets. "Are we too cool for prizes?" he asks.

"Only if you want to be," I say.

"Who am I kidding? I'm not cool enough to leave the house by myself," he says. "Let's go get some stuffed animals."

I smile. "Okay."

We walk out of the arcade with a large stuffed octopus and three much smaller porcupines. Awsten seems pleased with this, and I have to admit I am too, if only because they're making him smile. 

"Well, this was fun," I say after the stuffed animals have been safely stored inside the car. 

"Yeah, very," says Awsten. "We should do this again. When are you free next?"

"Uh..." I try to recall my schedule. "Today's the seventh, right?"

"I think so," he says.

"I've got Thursday off," I say. "Can we do that?"

"I'll have to think up another lie to tell my parents, but I'm free Thursday," he says. "What time?"

"You can pick," I say.

"How about eleven?" he asks.

"It's a date," I say, and he grins. 

"We have a second date."


	6. Six? This Is Just Getting Ridiculous.

It is Wednesday and Jenna and I are sorting papers when Derek walks into the office.

"Hey, my friend's throwing a party at seven tonight," he says. "You two down?"

Jenna narrows her eyes. "What kind of party?"

"His parents won't be home," says Derek with a smirk.

"Yeah, I'll go," says Jenna, and I find myself nodding.

"You're in too, Geoff?" says Derek.

"Yes. I am," I clarify. "What's the address?"

"Here," he says, flicking a slip of paper at me.

"Uh, that's convenient," I say. "Thanks."

"Hey, I figured you'd want to hang with hot chicks," he says. 

I repress a smile and say, "I'm a bit picky, but hot is hot."

"Great. It'll be chill," he says. "You might get laid." He sings the word "laid," dragging it out.

"Um, no," I say, and him and Jenna laugh.

"Well, I got a floor to scrub. See you bros tonight," says Derek, and he leaves the office. Jenna and I glance at each other and return to our paperwork.

Nothing else interesting happens until seven, when I pull up at the address Derek gave me. There are already cars parked outside. I spot Jenna getting out of one of those cars, and reassure myself I am in fact in the right place. 

The house isn't crowded, but there are several people clustered together, socializing and laughing. There is music playing. Whoever chose the music has no taste whatsoever. It is a relatively normal party, until I spot Zakk.

Zakk. Him. The one person I thought wouldn't leave me after what happened last summer. He is standing in the center of the largest cluster, all eyes drawn to him. I recall he was always like that, always so charismatic. Maybe that's why I trusted him. 

I stand in the doorway, awkwardly waiting for someone to notice me, and praying that someone isn't Zakk.

As fate would have it, it is.

He looks up from his friends and meets my eyes, flashing me his brilliant Zakk smile. I pretend not to recognize him, or at least I try until he calls out my name. "Yo, Geoff!"

"Hi," I mutter. Everyone he was talking to now is staring at me.

"Well, why are you standing there?" he says. "Come on over!"

Hesitantly, I walk to him and stop at a safe distance, but he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me closer. I flinch, but he doesn't let go.

"Bros, this is my dude. We're tight," he says, and by now I would like nothing more than to feed him to a large swarm of piranhas. Not only is he touching me, but he is pretending everything is all right between us-like he didn't fuck my best friend while I was in a mental hospital. 

"Uh, not really," I say, shaking him off me. 

"Aw, what's up?" he says, and I sigh. 

"Don't pretend you don't know, " I snap.

"Oh, look, he's still neurotic," he says. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I have a little restraint.

"Nah, I'm just..." Fuck. I can't think of a comeback. And there are like six people staring at me.

"Enough of this shit," he says. "How've you been, my man?"

"Uh, I'm not 'your man'," I say, "and exactly the same."

"What do you say we have a little fun?" he says, smirking.

"Uh, I'm seeing someone, so no," I blurt, hoping Awsten is okay with that. 

"Seeing someone? Already?" he says. 

"Zakk, we broke up in March," I point out. Yes. Change the focus.

"Wait, this is your ex?" interjects some girl I don't know. "I thought he'd be smaller."

"Hell yeah, it's my ex," says Zakk. "Geoff, this is Tay, Jake, Cameron, Ryan, Tony, and Evan."

I forget all those names almost instantly. It doesn't matter that much, though, as someone yells from outside, and the door bursts open. Derek waltzes in, carrying a few six-packs and smiling like the fuckboy he is. "I brought the drinks!" he shouts, and sets the six-packs on the nearest empty table. 

The entire party swarms the table, and Derek stands back proudly. I walk over to him, because I kind of know him, and he smirks at me.

"I don't drink," he says as the alcohol is distributed. "I win."

"I don't drink this early in the evening," I say, and he chuckles. "Uh, I might have some later, though, if they don't all get to it."

"S'probably not gonna happen," he says. "They are like animals when it comes to drinks."

"I can tell," I say. 

Derek nods and heads over to an out-of-the-way side table. I follow him, spotting a set of speakers on it. "Gonna make this a real party," he says, smiling. 

The music starts, and the other partygoers begin cheering.

"Jeez, they act like they're already drunk," he says, and I laugh. 

"They do," I say. "Let's hope they don't get too violent."

"I've seen 'em all drunk before. You'll be fine," he says, glancing down at my hand. "But they might want to sign your cast."

"Uh, I'm okay with that, I guess," I say.

Derek nods. "You'll live. Now go have fun."

Before I can protest, he disappears into the screaming mob, and I am left alone. I decide to take his advice. 

It works, for the most part. I dance with some girls I don't know and pretend I'm totally straight. They don't mean anything by it, and I make sure they know I don't either. It's a party, and we're just trying to have fun. But every time I let a girl's hands on my shoulders, I can't help but think of Awsten. 

By ten, most of the guys are drunk enough to dance with other guys. I'm not drunk. I've only had a few drinks. Regardless, I am more than willing to participate in this activity (although I avoid Zakk at all costs). The guys are tall and muscular and not like Awsten, and they all smell like alcohol. They are quick to tell me I look enough like a girl to dance with them. I wonder if I'm like that when I'm drunk. Although, I suppose if I'd ever told a girl she looked enough like a boy to dance with me, I'd probably have more memories of being slapped in the face.

Shut up, Geoff. Dance with the drunk boys.

The party doesn't start to lose its luster until one or so. That's when the first girl goes home. I don't remember her name, but I danced with her. She was the one who got a bit too handsy and I had to actually push her away.

I wait for a few more people to leave before I decide to call it a night. I can't be the first guy to leave, or I'll look weird. Once I find my opportunity, I make my way to the edge of the makeshift dance floor and search for Derek. I don't see him anywhere, so I just leave. 

I can walk in a straight line, so I assume I'm sober enough to drive myself home. Nobody pulls me over, and I make it home by two. 

My aunt and uncle are already asleep, and I assume Rebecca is too. They don't come rushing to the door when I open it. I'm safe. I drag myself up to my bedroom and fall asleep in my clothes. 

The next morning, I wake up to a pounding headache, a couple scuffs on my bedsheets from sleeping in my combat boots, and an overload of texts from an interesting mix of people.

Jenna: I'm sorry.

?: Is it true?

??: I can't believe you did that.

???: Ew, who are you?

????: I'm never going to forgive you for this.

And finally...

Derek: Are you getting as many weird texts as I am?


	7. We're Already At Seven. Great.

I carefully read all the messages, trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on. I don't know what I'd done. Derek and I had hardly spoken that night, and I hadn't done anything dangerous. I'd just done what everyone else was doing.

There were no gaps in my memory. The whole night, I'd stayed alert enough to be able to remember it later. I mean, so what my head hurts like a bitch now? I'm not that hungover. There was literally no space in there for me to have done something worth a bunch of mystery texts.

And what was with Jenna's message? "I'm sorry." What had she done to contribute to this?

I debate on who to reply to first, and decide that Mystery Texter Number Two is most worthy of my response.

??: I can't believe you did that.

G: One: who are you? and two: did what? 

Nothing back, not even after ten minutes. I sigh and move on to a different person. Mystery Texter Number Three deserves some sass, or at least a stern talking-to. I don't know why I come to this conclusion, but I do.

???: Ew, who are you?

G: Clearly if you have my number, you know who I am. However, I do not know who you are. An appropriate response in this situation would be to tell me who you are, and why whatever it is I did deserves an "ew."

I'm not the best at sass, but thanks. I try. I don't even wait for a reply this time, instead going straight for another mystery texter.

????: I'm never going to forgive you for this.

G: Forgive me for what? I haven't done anything, nor apologized for it as far as I know. Especially not to you, a person of uncertain identity.

I don't know why I'm responding to rude unknown numbers instead of outright asking Jenna or Derek what exactly is happening and how I got involved with it. Maybe I should do that. Derek seems just as clueless as me, but he asked a legitimate question, so I reply to him.

D: Are you getting as many weird texts as I am?

G: Yes, in fact. How'd you know?

I wait a few minutes, and he actually texts back.

D: All my weird messages mentioned you.

G: Really?

D: Yeah. It was all shit like "Why Geoff, of all people?"

G: Honestly, yeah, why me? I have no clue what's going on.

D: I think I do.

Do I want to know? 

Yes.

G: Tell.

D: Don't hate me.

G: I won't judge.

D: I slept with a dude last night.

I set my phone on my bedside table and take a deep breath, putting two and two together. All those mystery texters think I got with Derek. But I didn't, and Derek knows I didn't. It's hard to forget someone you fucked. Believe me.

G: And somehow, they think it was me.

D: Yep.

G: Have you told them it wasn't?

D: They won't fucking believe me.

That's when Jenna's text falls into place. She told them I like guys.

G: Give me a minute.

I switch to Jenna's message and think of what I'm going to say to her. I can't be too hostile, because hostility has never worked and will never work for me. So I pull the "disappointment" card, the same one I used when I broke up with Zakk. I made that asshole cry with that tactic.

J: I'm sorry.

G: Why would you do that to me?

She takes a while to respond.

J: You know?

G: I guessed. You told people I'm gay.

J: Well, I didn't say you were gay, just that you're into boys.

G: Same thing. But why?

J: I was drunk, and people were talking about Derek's sexcapades, and it just kind of slipped out.

I have to set my phone down and count to twenty to avoid sending something I'll regret, and by the time I reach twenty, I realize what time it is. It's ten.

Shit. I have a date. I scramble out of bed, leaving Jenna on read, and quickly pick out something to wear. I briefly consider just showing up in the clothes I have on, but I shoot that down just as quickly, remembering all those days I had to do that out of necessity and not laziness. No. I can't wear something twice without washing it. 

I change as fast as I can, rush to the bathroom, and attempt to tame my hair one-handed. It's wild from last night, and man, I look like a fucking corpse. I didn't drink that much, did I?

After I get myself looking presentable, I hurry downstairs, nod to Rebecca on the couch, and run out to my car. The directions to Awsten's place are still on the passenger seat, where I left them. I know it's a bad idea to drive hungover, but how else am I supposed to get Awsten? Walk?

Surprisingly, I make it to Awsten's house in one piece. He is sitting on his front porch and stands up when he sees me. His sweater is white today. 

He walks out to my car without so much as a word to his family that he's leaving. As he gets closer, I notice that his eyes are red and puffy, like he's been crying. I can't get out of the car to help him in, so I just sit, tensely waiting for him. He somehow seems even shakier. 

"Hey," he says as he opens the car door. His voice cracks slightly.

"What's up?" I ask. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm good," he says. "Just had a bit of a fight with my parents."

"Are you hurt at all?" I ask instinctively, and instantly regret it. I sound too worried. He'll put two and two together too quickly, I'm sure of it.

"No, not physically," he says. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," I say, and start up the car again. 

"You know, if we're being honest, you don't look much better than me," he says. 

"Uh, I went to a party last night," I say. My phone buzzes, and I wince. Probably one of those unknown numbers sending me shit.

"Do you want to take that?" he asks, and I shake my head. My phone goes off again. "Are you sure?" he says.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say. "To be honest, I don't want to know."

"Some serious shit must've gone down at that party," he says, his normal smile starting to creep back onto his face.

"Actually, yeah," I say.

"Really?" he says, smiling. "What happened? Tell Mom."

I laugh nervously. "I'll tell you once you stop comparing yourself to my mother." Don't think. "You're better than that."

"Okay," he says, thankfully not questioning further. "Tell Aunt Awsten your problems."

I smile. "Someone started a rumor that I slept with one of my guy friends."

"Did you sleep with him, though?"

"No!" I say. "But I'm gay, so I'm most likely to have. Except I'm not, because I can't have sex without..." I've already said too much.

"Sounds infuriating," says Awsten. "You'll set them straight."

"Uh, do you want to listen to music?" I say, in an attempt to change the subject. "I brought Viva La Cobra this time."

"Sure!" he exclaims, and I fumble with the CD before starting it up. 

By the fourth song, we have arrived at our destination-the movie theatre. After a lot of swearing at the road, I parallel-park the car and help Awsten out because I'm a fucking gentleman.

"Oh, what are we seeing?" he asks, and I smile and tell him the name of the movie. Some manly action thing.

We enter the building and buy the tickets. The cashier is a girl with red lipstick and large tits, and she winks at me after I pay. I don't know what to do, so I smile awkwardly and try to act as gay as possible. I thought the way I dress is a dead giveaway, but I guess not.

Awsten and I pass the concession stand, and I gesture toward it.

"Do you want popcorn or anything?" I ask.

"Um, I'll pass," he says. Suddenly he looks very uncomfortable. 

"Okay, cool," I say. He and I make our way into the theatre itself. The lights are already dimming, and the first preview is starting. We've made it at just barely the right time.

He heads straight for the front, and I follow him because he's cute. Also, he says he doesn't get out much, so I'm happy to do whatever the hell he wants. We take our seats a lot closer to the front than I would've liked, but it's not like I care. Awsten's gonna be sitting next to me the whole time. 

The second preview starts, and I realize the theatre doesn't have air conditioning. By preview three, I am uncomfortably moist, and I suspect Awsten is too.

"Hey," he whispers, and I lean in. "If I take my sweater off, will you promise not to judge me?"

"Uh, yeah, of course I won't judge you," I whisper back. "I can barely see you."

"Good," he says, and pulls his sweater off over his head.

The first thing I notice is how skinny his arms are. They are widest at the wrists and elbows, which I assume is not normal, and I can make out the faint outlines of the bones in his forearms. The most striking thing is how surprisingly proportionate his arms are to the rest of his body. 

He's so skinny!

The second thing I notice is the faint lines etched into his skin, the ones I recognize all too well. I look away, realizing I'm probably invading his privacy so much. Though, I did promise not to judge.

The third thing I notice is his Fall Out Boy T-shirt.

I smile to myself and turn my attention to the screen. The dude-bro movie is starting. 

And I sure as hell can't afford to miss any of that, now, can't I?


	8. Eight? I Think We Need To Slow Down.

I have not stopped thinking about Awsten since our date. 

The movie didn't pique my interest. All I could think about was Awsten, and how much more attractive he was than the main actor, who, despite having decent abs and an admittedly chiseled jawline, closely resembled a badly burned shark with a mop duct-taped to its head. Awsten is more pixie-like, more delicate, and worlds more charismatic. I'd sooner protect him than Mop Shark Man, though I can barely protect myself.

It is some time past six o'clock on Saturday and I am walking home from therapy. It's the first time I've gone to therapy in a long while. The therapist is new. I don't trust her. She took it upon herself to read my medical records aloud to me as I stared at my feet, trying not to cry. Then I really did cry when I told her about what happened to me last year. It's shameful. I am sick to my stomach now, and I'm certain I don't look much better than I feel.

Regardless, I can still think about Awsten. I can think about what he showed off on Thursday, and how he apparently trusted me enough to let me see that. He was so skinny, abnormally skinny, almost skeletally thin, and the scars. There's no way I can forget that easily. Those sweaters hide a lot. 

I recall one of our first conversations, in which I mentioned not being able to listen to Pretty. Odd. because of the memories, and he said he couldn't listen to 21st Century Breakdown for the same reason. At the time I'd brushed it off, thinking it was nothing, but I begin to wonder. Maybe he does understand.

Of course, I can't ask him. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me, just like if I wanted him to know about me I'd tell him. I feel like I could. That scares me. I've never felt like I could tell anyone about what happened before. But Awsten's different.

Although, I thought Zakk was different too.

Nevermind. I am almost home. I am eager to get home as fast as possible, to minimize the amount of random passerby that see my red, tear-stained face and wonder whether I'm on drugs. Goddamn it, I should've taken the car.

A block away from my house, one of my neighbors is sitting on her front porch in a rocking chair. I pretend not to notice her, but she notices me. "Hello, Geoff."

"Hey, Eunice," I mumble, walking faster. 

"Now, don't be like that," she says. "Come and have a chat with Eunice."

"Uh, as much as I'd like to," I say, "I'm in a bit of a hurry." I take care not to look at her.

"A hurry? At this time?" she says. "Come on."

"I actually am," I say, thinking up a lie. "I did something dumb and now I have a curfew."

"Oh, really?" she says. "You should go, then."

"Yeah, I should," I mutter. "Bye, Eunice," I say at full volume, and start walking again.

"Take care, Geoffrey," she says, and I cringe. 

"'S not my name," I murmur, hoping she doesn't hear me. She probably doesn't. I am now closer to my house than I am to hers.

My family is home. They are always home at this time. I clumsily unlock the door and walk in on my uncle making dinner. He nods to me, and I nod back. Rebecca and my aunt are watching some sort of sport on TV. 

I rush upstairs and hide in my bedroom. I want to talk to Awsten. 

Without further hesitation, I get out my phone and call him. I would've texted him, but I don't particularly feel like looking at my messages as of late. Also Awsten has a cute-ass voice.

He picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hey," he says, his voice cracking.

"What's up?" I say.

"Oh...um...nothing," he says. "Just...stuff."

"Did I interrupt your dinner?" I ask, it suddenly occurring to me that I may've. "Because I can call back later."

"No, you're fine," he says. "I just finished dinner, actually."

"Really?" I say. "It's six-fifteen."

"I eat fast," he says. "Anyway, what's on your mind?"

"You," I blurt.

There is a long pause before he speaks again. "Wow...um..." he trails off. "I'm flattered. Unless you decided you actually hate me."

"No way," I say. "I was just thinking about you in general."

"I suppose you want to know about my arms, don't you," he sighs. 

"Well, um, not if you don't want me to know," I stammer.

"What?" he says.

"I usually assume that if someone wants me to know something, they'll tell me," I say.

"Good thing to assume," he says. "Do you want to know, though? Because if you want to know, I'm totally fine with telling you."

"Uh, well, kinda, but I-"

"But?"

"But if you tell me your tragic backstory, I'll feel like I have to tell you mine, and I don't want to," I admit. "I'm not ready for that." 

"Oh." He pauses.

"Yeah."

"I feel like you should know mine, though," he says. "You don't have to tell me anything, and goddamn it, I just want to tell you."

"Okay," I say. 

Awsten takes a deep breath. "So. I used to be a model."

"That explains why you looked so familiar when I first met you," I say.

"Yeah." He chuckles. "So I was a model, because I'm attractive and have weird eyes and shit. I had real low self-esteem, and I'd like to think modeling helped with that, at least until November."

"What happened in November?" I ask, even though I probably already know the answer.

"That's when I started...you know...cutting." He trails off.

"Oh."

"Anyway, I didn't tell anyone. I just stopped wearing short sleeves and hoped no one would ask me about it. And I got away with it, too. I just kept on having low self-esteem, and all was well until I stopped eating."

"What?"

"I got really touchy around food, and every time I even thought about eating, I felt guilty." He pauses to breathe and goes on. "I lost a ton of weight, which wasn't exactly good, as I was already pretty thin to begin with. People noticed, but they didn't think it was anything bad. Heck, they started complimenting me on how good I looked. I was proud of it.

"Then one day in April, I was getting ready for a photo shoot and I passed out."

"Whoa," I say. 

"I know," he says. "They took me to the hospital, and the doctors said 'You weigh eighty-six pounds. You need help.' So they put me in a mental hospital, which I hated, by the way, and they let me out in May when I'd gotten back up to a hundred."

"Damn," I say. "And you're okay now?"

"Not really," he says, and laughs. "Eating still fucking sucks. I'm always worried it will make me throw up. I'm dead scared of throwing up for some reason. But I haven't cut myself since I got into the hospital, and that's good, I guess."

"Yeah, it's good," I say. "It's really good. Don't relapse."

"No shit, Sherlock," he says.

"Well, I relapsed, and I got cheated on," I say. "Figured I'd spread the luck."

"Wait, what?"

"No! I didn't mean-" I curse myself for wording it like that. "I'm not gonna cheat on you. I just think relapsing is bad karma."

"Good," he says. "I figured you wouldn't cheat on me-you don't seem like the cheating type-but you scared me for a second."

"There's a cheating type?"

"Yes, don't you know?" he says. "How many people have you been with?"

"Before you? One," I confess.

"Just one? How old are you, sixteen?" he asks.

"Eighteen in, like, two weeks," I say. "Why? How old are you?"

"Um, fifteen."

"What?"

"Relax, it's not that big an age gap," he says. "The last guy I dated is twenty-one now."

"What?!"

"We didn't date that long," he says. "Kellin and I only went out five times or so. Then his band took off, and he ditched me for some fake-ass band guy."

"Still, six years?" I say. "Okay, I guess compared to that, you and I are fine."

"So we're dating."

"...yes."


	9. There's No Way We're All The Way To Nine.

A week passes.

The next Friday, I am playing Legend of Zelda in the living room when someone knocks at the door.

I move to answer it, but Rebecca beats me. "I'll get it."

She opens the door, and Awsten and his small friend whose name I have forgotten yet again are there. "Hey," says Awsten. "Does Geoff live here?"

Rebecca nods and jerks her thumb at me. I pause the game and get up, and Awsten blushes. His small friend stands next to him, being small.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" I ask. "More importantly, how'd you get my address, and how'd you know I had the day off?"

"That's not important," he says, his normal smile making its first appearance. "But I wanted to surprise you."

"Aww," says Rebecca, and I glare at her.

"Well, you surprised me," I say.

"Come on!" he says, and gestures to the road. "I have a plan."

"Uh, okay," I say. "Just let me find my housekeys."

I dash upstairs and grab my keys and wallet, and walk back down to Awsten. "You ready?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, and step outside. He bounds in front of me, and his small friend trails slightly behind him.

"You've taken me out twice," he explains, "and I feel like I owe you one. But I can't drive, so Otto has to take us."

So that's his name. "You didn't have to do this," I say.

"He figured you'd like to meet the small friend," says Otto, and I face-palm. 

"You actually told him that."

"Well, I did say I would," says Awsten, "and I don't lie."

"Yeah, you do," says Otto.

"Shut up and drive us places," says Awsten, and Otto makes his way to the drivers' side entrance of a modest black car. Awsten gets in the back and I climb in next to him.

"Uh, so, where are we going?" I ask as Otto starts the car.

"It's a secret," says Awsten.

"We're going to Nadalrad Park," says Otto. Awsten sighs and bites his lip.

"Nadalrad Park?" I say. "That place is cute."

"You've been there?" Awsten asks.

"Hell yeah, dude," I say.

"I went there all the time last winter," he says. "It was like my second home."

"Last summer, I'd chill there for hours on end," I say. "It was the only place with lots of space, sunshine, and WiFi."

"Priorities," he says, smiling.

Otto turns a corner and the conversation dies.

"Hey, Otto, put on some music," says Awsten in an attempt to break the silence.

"Okay, sure," says Otto, and he clumsily shoves a CD into the player. When the first song begins, I recognize it as Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge.

"Otto loves My Chemical Romance," says Awsten. "He worships them as gods. I'm pretty sure he has a secret shrine to them in his bedroom."

"Shut up," says Otto.

"I've seen the shrine," says Awsten. "You and I both know it's true."

"You're not any better!" says Otto. "I've seen you jacking off to a picture of Brendon Urie."

I laugh, but at the same time feel a little sick at the thought.

"Come on, man, that was one time!" says Awsten.

"Sure," says Otto.

They continue like that all the way to Nadalrad Park. It's highly entertaining.

Otto pulls into the Nadalrad Park parking lot like a bitch. It's a hard parking lot to maneuver in a car, but Otto is surprisingly good at it, considering he's how old, fifteen? Sixteen? Must be sixteen, if he's driving. Whatever. He's a good driver.

The park itself is possibly the most scenic farmer's market I've ever encountered. Various local shops (and one Starbucks because fuck you) cluster around a small picnic area at one end of the park. At the other end, a dirt trail extends through a large wooded area and loops back around to the grassy field that greets us as we arrive. It's a fucking nice place.

I hop out of the car and help Awsten out the other side like a gentleman. "Have fun, lovebirds," says Otto, and drives off.

"He'll come back around three," Awsten assures me.

"Uh, what should we do first?" I ask, looking around.

"Let's go walk the trail!" he exclaims, and bounds off. I chase after him. He's shockingly fast on those weak little legs of his.

He reaches the start of the trail before I do and damn nearly collapses. I stand slightly behind him in case he actually does pass out. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," he says between breaths. "Let's walk this bitch."

I smile and wait for him to stand up straight. He takes a few steps onto the trail, and before we know it we are heading full steam ahead down the path. 

As far as I can tell, we are the only ones out here. Awsten is overly excited about being on the trail, but I think it's the cutest thing ever. He's stopping every few seconds to look at some sort of plant or chase a bunny. "I haven't been out here since April," he explains. 

I grin. "Keep doing it, then. Enjoy the fucking sun."

"I should get out more," he says. "I wish my parents weren't so overprotective."

I nod. I don't have much to say, so I just listen. His voice is adorable.

"Otto was my literal saving grace," he says. "My parents trust him, so he's the only thing getting me out of the house. If he wasn't there, I'd be stuck inside all day. Man, I fucking love the sun."

"My parents used to lock me in my bedroom," I blurt.

"What?" Fuck. Now I have to elaborate on that. I curse myself for letting that slip.

"They changed the lock on my bedroom door so it locked from the outside. They'd lock it out of nowhere when I was inside, and sometimes they wouldn't let me out for days on end."

"I thought you didn't live with...oh." He's realized. Fuck my entire life. "That's rough."

"I don't like to talk about it."

"I can see why," he says. "And you don't have to tell me anything."

"Yeah, I know...but...never mind. Let's go back to chasing bunnies."

"Good idea."

Awsten and I avoid serious conversation topics for the rest of the walk. Instead, we just look at animals and weird-shaped trees and talk about bands and random shit. He continues to be cute as fuck.

We get back to the field with all our limbs attached. Awsten makes a beeline for the shops, and I follow him blindly. I brought money, I figure I can pay for whatever he wants, as long as he doesn't want diamonds or shit.

He stops at the entrance to the picnic area. "Where to?" I ask.

He looks around before settling on a place called Savarildis Family Cafe. "There," he says, and points.

"Okay, sure," I say, and head over to the entrance.

When we get in, Awsten is entranced by the display case of pastries. He's basically a little kid in a candy store, only not as hungry and more mystified. It's like he's wondering why people would eat stuff like that.

"Are you gonna get anything?" I ask.

"Hm?" he says, and I repeat my question. "Um, I dunno."

"I'm gonna get a coffee," I say, just so he knows. 

There is one person in line in front of us. Once they order, I nudge Awsten.

"Are you ready?" I ask.

"Um, yeah," he says.

"Cool," I say, and order my coffee. Awsten shakily orders a mini donut.

"That's it?" asks the barista.

"Yeah," I say.

"Can I get a name?" she asks. Awsten and I look at each other. No matter whose name we use, she's gonna spell it wrong.

"Geoff," I say.

"Your order will be ready in a few," she says, and points to the drink counter. Awsten and I head over there and wait.

"I love this café so much," says Awsten. "I used to go here all the time."

"Me too," I say. "It's one of my favorite places."

"This was fun," he says, smiling. "You and me should come here again sometime."

"Totally," I say.

The barista calls out my name, and I collect my coffee. Awsten and I make our way outside and find an empty table.

I look at my coffee cup and see that it has "JEFF" written on it in large black letters.

Close enough.


	10. Ten? Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

Jenna wants me to help Derek in the locker room. I can do that, and it'll at least be a change of pace from the usual office walls, so I agree. When I arrive at work on Saturday at six-thirty in the morning, I am starting to regret that decision.

The locker room is musty and smells of dust, chlorine, and congealed sweat. The odor alone makes me want to jump off a bridge. There are far too many mysterious red-brown stains on the floor and walls, which Jenna assured me were just rust, but I don't believe her. The floor around the doorway is almost completely covered in wet towels.

Derek is already there with a mop, bucket, and laundry cart. "Morning, Geoff."

"Mor-" A yawn interrupts me. "Morning."

He laughs like the cocky fuck he is. "Not used to getting up early?"

"It's summer," I complain.

"Yeah, and this locker room needs some serious tidying. Here, you're in charge of the towels," he says, and picks up the mop. There is an unreasonable amount of dirty towels on the floor of the locker room, and the pool opens in two and a half hours. I begin to clumsily gather the towels and place them into a pile next to the laundry cart while Derek mops at some mysterious stains on the floor near the shower. You know what? I don't want to know.

The towels are moist. I can't help but think about all the wet people these towels have rubbed. 

Ew.

Derek is really getting into those stains, I think as I look over at him. I wonder who he's thinking about. Before I can stop them, my thoughts wander back to the party. I know I didn't sleep with him, and I still haven't heard back from any of those unknown numbers. Maybe I just made it up? I don't know. 

It is about an hour before Derek starts to get bored. I know he is bored because he starts speaking to me, and no one speaks to me unless they're really fucking bored. "So."

"So," I respond.

"What's going on with you?" he asks. "Like, in general."

"Uh, nothing much," I say. Reveal personal information? Yes. "I'm back in therapy, if that interests you."

"What for?"

"Reasons." I fold up another towel and cram it into the bottom of the laundry cart. "It hasn't helped much. But don't worry about me."

"Um, okay," he says. Fuck. I've weirded him out. Abort.

"Sorry."

"No, man, it's all good," he says. "There is something I wanted to ask you, though."

"What?" I ask, even though I already know what it's gonna be.

"Are you gay?"

"Yes."

"Well, you don't fuck around."

"I'm direct," I say. "Also, you slept with a guy, so you can't judge me."

"Eh," he says, and goes back to his mopping. I start freaking out. He hates me now, I know it. I am so focused on freaking out, in fact, that I don't realize I still have to fold towels.

Thank my lucky stars I don't cry. If I cried I'd be totally screwed. Derek would think I was weak, which I am, but I can't let him know that, now can I?

Oh. Right. I have a towel in my hand. I quickly fold it into a nice square and jam it into the cart, praying the scent doesn't linger too long on my hand. I'm gonna have to scrub the skin off my body in the bath after they let me home today. 

It is silent again, save for Derek's mop squelching in the bucket and sloshing on the floor, and those aren't exactly ambient background noises. This is the unpleasant kind of quiet, the kind of quiet you can't escape from. The kind you have no choice but to focus on the never-ending whirring of your own brain in. Night-time with company quiet. Classroom quiet. Mental hospital quiet. I wish we could put on some music or something.

If I could halt my runaway train of thought for just one minute, I'd be okay. That seems to be my main problem-my mind races and the only option I have is to race with it. At least, that's what my therapist says. I don't care, as long as she can fix me within eight sessions so I won't completely plummet once I hit college.

I lose track of time. Something knocks on the locker room door.

Startled, I jerk my head up and set down the towel I'm folding. I prepare to answer the door, but Derek beats me to the punch. "This one's for me."

"How do you know?" I ask.

"I just do, okay?" he snaps, and opens the door. I catch sight of long brown hair and a Paramore T-shirt before Derek steps outside with the other person, slamming the door behind him and almost ripping the damn thing off its rusting hinges.

Of course, I'm curious. When someone slams a door on you to be with someone you don't know, and seems pissed about the fact, naturally you'd want to know why. And I suppose I could just ask him later, but no, I'm too awkward.

I try to go back to folding towels, but I can only successfully finish one before my mind wanders back to Derek and his mystery acquaintance. Whatever, I tell myself. It's probably just some girl he knows, upset with him for sleeping with a guy, probably frustrated from getting nowhere over text. Maybe he even has a girlfriend and it was all just a big misunderstanding.

Fuck it. I drop my towels and creep over to the door. The wood is thin and rotting, the door itself just misshapen enough to let some air through the cracks between it and the doorframe. I can hear Derek and his conversational partner almost perfectly.

"...tell anyone," Derek is saying. "What kind of man are you?"

"Look, I have a reputation in this town," says the other person, and with a jolt I realize that they are probably not a girl. "I can't go around telling people-"

"-that you fucked a dude," interrupts Derek. I wince and take a step away from the door, and he goes on. "Yeah, you wouldn't want anyone to find out you experimented, do you?" His voice is harsh and angry, so much so it scares me. He seems like such a chilled-out guy.

"No! Look, people can't find out about this!" The other person's voice rises. "I won't be known as the-as the..."

"What, are you scared of the word?" sneers Derek.

"I am not!" yells the other person. "I just don't want it to...to be me."

 "Offensive much?" says Derek. 

"Who says I'm trying to be offensive?" says the other person. "I'm just not-"

"-gay," finishes Derek. "You're a coward, that's what you are."

"I was drunk."

"No, you weren't!" insists Derek. "We were both one hundred percent sober. It was all you who let slip to Tay that Derek DiScanio had sex with another dude and casually forgot to mention you were the other dude."

"Look, I didn't know it would get this big a deal!" shouts the other person. "How was I supposed to know Tay would blab about it to her chick friends?"

"I dunno, don't tell drunk people secrets you don't want the world to know about?" suggests Derek. "Look, I don't know how you got it into your head that you don't have to own up to anything you do-"

"I don't think that!"

"Them fucking act like it!" snaps Derek. "You can't spend your whole life blaming other people for shit you think will hurt your precious reputation, alright?"

"No one will believe it was me, anyway," says the other person. "Even if we do tell them, it's too late now."

"No, it's not!" says Derek. "I'm telling everyone the truth tomorrow, and you can either help out a bit or go sulk in your room for all I care. But if you help me out, it'll be easier for everyone to hear it from you yourself than from me. It'll look like I snitched on you."

"So you're-"

"Worried about my own image? Yes. Just like you are yours."

"Well, if that isn't the most selfish, arrogant-"

"Me? Selfish?" shouts Derek. "If I tell people, the only one I'll be hurting is you, and your rep can handle sleeping with a guy and lying about it for a week and a half. If we do what you want and keep it down, you're hurting both me and cute, innocent Geoff."

My eyes widen at the sound of my name. "What does Geoff have to do with anything?" asks the other person.

"Geoff Wigington?" says Derek. "Oh, he's sweet and shy and taking the blame for getting with me. I can't ask that from him."

"And yet you can ask me to destroy my image?" asks the other person.

"Fuck you," says Derek. "I thought you were different."

"I am different," says the other person, his voice suddenly softening. "You know that as well as I do, Lil D."

"Stop fucking calling me Lil D!" roars Derek. "Just because I bottomed doesn't mean I-oh!" His voice abruptly cuts off with a half-moan, half-scream. 

Unable to lie in wait any longer, a bit worried the other guy had hurt Derek, I throw open the door and stare in horrified fascination at the scene in front of me.

Derek and the long-haired guy are kissing.


	11. Eleven? This Should Never Have Happened.

Well, fuck.

The two guys spring apart and turn to face me. Derek's face is strawberry red, and the other person scowls at me. I take the opportunity to get a look at him: he is slightly shorter than Derek, has light brown hair that goes past his shoulders, and wears glasses. Cute, if he smiled, or at least dropped the dirty look.

"Geoff, I can explain-" begins Derek, but I cut him off.

"Uh, I heard everything," I say. "Paper thin walls, man."

Derek's face somehow gets redder. "I..."

"I won't say anything," I say.

"Good," says the other person. "I swear to god, if you tell anyone-"

"Shut the fuck up, Ryan," says Derek. "This is sweet, innocent Geoff. Be nice to him."

"I'm not that innocent," I say.

"Yeah, you are," says Derek.

"No, I'm really not," I insist. 

"Fuck you," says Derek. "But you heard all that shit, right?"

"Uh, most of it," I say.

"Well...um...fuck," he says. "I'm sorry about Ryan, he's a dick. I swear, he's the only thing stopping me from telling people."

I want to agree with Derek, that yes, I shouldn't be blamed, that Ryan deserves to have the world know. But something in the back of my mind says he doesn't. It wouldn't be fair to out him, no matter how much of a dick he is. Fuck, I shouldn't be able to empathize with him. 

"What, don't have anything to say? What are you, eight?" taunts Ryan, and I quickly glance down at my feet.

"Stop being such a fucking dick!" exclaims Derek. He wheels on Ryan, practically glowing like a red Christmas light. "Since the party, you've been nothing but an asshole to me, and Geoff, and pretty much everyone who wasn't one of your bitchy little friends. I thought you weren't like them, I really did."

"I'm not like them," pleads Ryan.

"Think about it," says Derek.

"Okay, fine, I fucked up!" shouts Ryan. "But you're no better than me, you want to ruin my life! I'd be fucking destroyed if any of this got out, any of it! Geoff what's-his-face can keep right on being blamed for it as far as I care."

"You fucking snake!"

"I'm not a damn snake!"

"No, you are!" yells Derek. "You little weak, pathetic, tiny-dicked c-"

"Stop it!" 

I don't know where that came from, but it sure surprises Derek and Ryan. They turn their heads to look at me, and I'm uncertain what I look like to them, but it's probably not good. At least I'm not as red as Derek.

"I swear to God, if you keep on arguing, I'm gonna tear my fucking hair out!" I declare. "And I've got really nice hair, come on!"

"Geoff, I was-" Derek begins, but oh my god shut the fuck up.

"Ryan," I say, "you don't care about anyone but yourself, and no wonder! If you were less of a selfish prick, we wouldn't be here, and whether you wanted to or not, it's your fault those rumors started about me. It's your fault I'm even involved in any of this." 

Derek smirks. "See, that's what I've been trying to-"

"What, like you're right either?" I apparently have lost any sort of filters I once had. "He screwed you over, I get that! I've been down that fucking road!" My voice cracks, and I take a breath before continuing. "But it's not okay to out someone, ever! I've been down that road too."

Surprisingly, Derek's face loses some of its color. "Why didn't you just say-"

"I. Just. Fucking. Did."

"Well, what do we do?" cuts in Ryan. "Apparently we can't just leave it, or Mr. Innocent will bite our heads off." He sidles up to me, trying to match me, but I'm six feet tall. He comes just short of intimidating. "Whaddya want us to do now? You chewed me out, now fix the fucking problem, you lumbering idiot."

I'm sure there are a hundred thousand better solutions I could propose, if I had time to think, but only one comes clear in my mind. For a short moment I hesitate, staring Ryan straight in the eye to humor him, and wonder if this is actually a good idea. I've already said too much. I figure at this point I have nothing left to lose.

"Tell them I'm a rape victim," I say, and storm out of the locker room.

*****

On my way out, I see Jenna opening the pool gates to the public. I wave to her with my good hand, and she waves back, totally chill. My shift is over anyway.

*****

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

It is four in the afternoon and I lie on my bed, regretting all my life choices. It was inevitable, of course, but I've learned that the definition of inevitable rivals my mental state in terms of stability. There are many factors in deciding it, too many to count, but the number also challenges the factors of my mental state. Inevitable can mean you are able to prepare, or it can mean you can only wait for it to come, wondering what you're going to do when it finally does. For me, it's the latter, and I never learned how to make it the former.

In its essence, inevitable means unstoppable, which seems most fitting. I am unable to stop the sick feeling in my stomach that comes from talking about it, the crashing waves of shame that bring my blood and stomach acid to a boil. For a second at a time, I feel like I'm back in my old bedroom in my parents' house, the door locked from the outside, only able to guess their next move. 

Fuck this. I need to talk to Awsten. 

My phone is charging across the room. Ordinarily, I wouldn't've gotten up to go get it, but Awsten is the only exception. 

G: Hey.

He doesn't respond. Maybe he's busy. In the meantime, I decide to put on one of my CDs to kill time and distract myself.

I sit up in bed and run a hand along the spines of my collection. Warning, All Killer No Filler, The Black Parade, Take Off Your Pants And Jacket...I pause when I find Awsten's favorite, Viva La Cobra.

Normally, I don't listen to that album often. I'm more of a While The City Sleeps, We Rule The Streets kind of guy. But it calls to me, the same way Awsten called to me the first day we met. I put the disc in my CD player and press play.

The first song hits me like a brick to the face, the one thing I forgot about this album. It's loud and powerful and in-your-face. That must be why Awsten likes it so much; he's got such a loud personality, it fits him. And it's pretty good for tuning out racing thoughts-some singers have dull, uninteresting voices and bland lyrics, but Gabe Saporta is not one of them.

I am five songs deep when Awsten replies.

A: What's up, G-spot?

That fucking nickname. I smile to myself and type a reply.

G: Lots of things, but I just wanted to talk to you about Cobra Starship.

A: What about Cobra Starship?

G: Just, in general. I want to be a fanboy for a while.

A: That I can do. Gabe Saporta made me realize I was bi.

G: He was one of my celebrity crushes back in the day.

A: His smile, his legs, his voice, I just want him to kiss my neck on a preschool playground during lunch recess while that one song from the Shrek movie plays.

G: What song? All-Star by Smash Mouth?

A: Yeah, that one.

G: That's quite the fantasy you have there.

A: Yeah, well, I spend all that time cooped up in my house, I'm bound to get an overactive imagination at some point.

G: Lucky. You got an overactive imagination, I just got unhealthy coping mechanisms that will take me intensive therapy to unlearn.

Whoa! Too close to home. I pray Awsten changes the subject back to Cobra Starship so I don't have to live with the consequences of my actions.

A: Ha ha. My family probably won't even let me go see the fireworks show on the fourth by myself.

G: What do you mean, by yourself?

A: I mean, without them or Otto.

I think for a moment, and get possibly the best idea I've had all day.

G: What about me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter's late. I went to a Waterparks concert yesterday and ran out of both time and energy.


	12. Twelve? This Has Gone On Too Long.

I get my cast off that Monday.

My left arm is pale and noticeably weaker than my right arm. My wrist and knuckles are stiff, but I assume they will bounce back eventually. Cracking a bone in the side of my hand isn't enough to permanently damage me, right? 

The upside to this is I can now play Legend of Zelda with little to no difficulty. Don't laugh at me. I'm a massive fucking nerd, okay? I can still see myself playing this ridiculous game when I'm twenty-seven and have a well-established life. 

The downside to this is I have to lifeguard again.

On Tuesday, I stroll into the pool office at one to check in and say hey to Jenna. I pass Awsten on my way in, and he shoots me a dazzling smile that instantly lightens my mood. He is wearing a black sweater today. It makes him look like a cute, cuddly vampire.

Jenna sits in the receptionists' chair, staring at the phone with a comical intensity. She looks up when I enter. 

"Hey," she says.

"Hello," I say, and check in.

"Don't get sunburned," she says.

"I make no promises," I reply. It's true. My skin has a high likelihood of shriveling up and falling off in this unreal Texas heat.

She chuckles. I smile and leave.

Evidently, someone learned from my errors and the lifeguard chair is held to the cement pool deck with sandbags. This reassures me I won't break anything else on duty. I climb up the ladder and take my seat. 

Everyone is running on the deck. Not everyone, but enough people so it feels like everyone. I'm already done with this job. There is a kid dragging around a fucking inner tube, wearing a snorkel and water wings. Some teenagers are playing a breath-holding game in the deep end. If they die, it's not my fault, I think.

One thing at a time, Geoff. I decide to ignore the running on the deck and blow my whistle at the kid. 

"Yo! We have a rule against floaties!" I shout, and he looks up.

"It's not a floatie, sir, it's an inner tube," he says in that snooty I-know-everything little-kid voice.

"Inner tube, floatie, whatever you want to call it, it's not allowed at this pool," I say. "You should probably put the water wings and snorkel away too."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, the Loch Ness Monster will come and eat you," I threaten, expecting him to laugh at me.

Instead, he yelps and drags the toys over to a deck chair. Wow. That worked. I lean back in my chair and try to focus on something other than the blazing heat of the sun. 

"Hey. lifeguard!" 

I sigh and look up. The teenagers trying to subtly drown each other are staring at a brunette girl in a green bikini.

"What the fuck? Why would you scare a little kid like that?" she yells.

"Because that's my job?" I say.

"Scaring little kids?" she shouts. "That's not a fucking job!"

"Uh, look, I don't have time to argue with you," I say, and it's true, I don't.

"Uh, go fuck yourself, you fatass," she says. One of the other teenagers, a boy in a black rashguard, places a hand on her shoulder, as if to say "Calm the fuck down."

I meet his eyes. He looks wary of her, as if this is a regular occurrence. I brush her remarks off; she seems to be the odd one out in her group of friends, at least in this way of thinking. 

"To each their own," I say, and turn my attention away from her.

I glance over at Awsten, who's horrified, or at least looks like it. He appears to be filled with murderous rage.

Same.

That sequence of events is the most interesting thing to happen during my shift. No near-drownings, no actual drownings (as far as I know), just god fucking damn kids running on the fucking deck. I don't even get wet. Just sunburned.

By the time four-o'clock rolls around, Awsten and Otto are two of four remaining pool-goers. From what I know, they normally leave at two or so, so this is unusual. 

I dart into the locker room to change out of my swimwear and put my stuff away, then come back out and walk straight up to Awsten.

"I brought my small friend," he says, and I face-palm.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, aren't you?" I say.

"Nope, never," he says. "Anyway, I waited for you today."

"Specifically today?"

"Well, I don't have anywhere else to be after this," he says, "and I figured it'd be fine."

"It is," I assure him. "Do you want to do something together?"

"Of course," he says. "Let's go to a strip club-"

"No!"

"Okay, okay, fine," he says. "I was joking, and I already have a place in mind."

"Where is it?" I ask.

"My house. You're gonna meet my parents. Get in the car."

*****

Otto parks the car in front of Awsten's house and clambers out. I help Awsten do the same. The two of them lead me up to his front porch. 

After knocking four times, Awsten steps back and waits a bit, and a colorfully-dressed woman pops out. "Hello, Awsty-pie," she coos. "Good afternoon, Otto. Who's this person?"

"Mom," says Awsten, "this is Geoff. We've been talking for about a month now. He's the lifeguard."

"Oh, him," she says. "Well, he looks wholesome. Bright eyes, shiny hair, good legs-"

"Mom!" exclaims Awsten.

"What's wrong with a little bit of examination?" she says. That's creepy, and I look away.

"You're scaring him!" says Awsten. "We've been over this. Even if they really do have nice legs, I'm the one to tell them." He turns to me. "You've got nice legs."

I laugh nervously, heat rising to my face. "Thanks."

"Enough of that!" says his mom. "Come inside. Have some organic tea."

"Yeah, come in," says Awsten, and he brings us inside.

The inside of his house is nice. His living room features two squishy-looking couches and lots of pretentious abstract art. The room leads into a dining room, which Awsten takes us into.

He pulls out one of the chairs and motions for me to take a seat, which I do. He sits next to me, Otto on his other side, and his mother across the table.

"So," says his mother. "You're the Geoff he's always on about."

"Yes," I say.

"Tell me all about yourself," she says. "Who are you, and why does my only son like you so much?"

"Uh, I'm kinda nice, and, well, I like Cobra Starship," I say. 

"Come on, you can do better than that," she says, and I retract into my chair. "Where are you from? What's your family like?"

"I, uh, used to live in California," I say.

"And your family?" she asks.

I glance at Awsten like "Help me," but he seems almost as clueless as me. "Um," I say. "I live with my aunt and uncle-"

"Oh, really?" she asks. "What about your parents?"

"Uh. I."

"Mom, I think I should show Geoff my bedroom," says Awsten. 

"Nonsense, he can stay and chat-"

"Mom."

"Fine."

Awsten stands up and beckons for me to come with. Otto hangs back. "I'm keeping Mrs. Knight company."

"Okay," says Awsten, and makes a beeline for the stairs.

His bedroom walls are plastered with Panic! At The Disco posters, and the floor is barely visible under all the laundry. He has a CD collection somehow more extensive than mine, and a massive stack of Alternative Press and Kerrang! magazines. It's the most Awsten place I've ever seen.

"Sorry, I didn't bother cleaning," he says, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

"It's fine," I say. "I don't mind."

"What'd you think of my mom?" he asks.

"Invasive," I blurt, and he laughs.

"Yep, that's her," he says. "She's so overprotective, you wouldn't believe it. I can't go anywhere without her or Dad or Otto chaperoning and making sure I stay hydrated and shit. I mean, I can see where she's coming from, like, I wouldn't trust me either, but she's so clingy about it I just-" He buries his head in his hands. "Never mind."

"No, it's fine," I say. "Keep on ranting."

"I just wanna fucking go to the fireworks with you, because you don't constantly ask me whether I'm hungry or thirsty or need to pee. I'm fifteen years old, and that's not that old, but I'm not a weak, helpless baby."

"I feel you," I say. "After last summer, everyone tiptoed around me."

"Yeah, but they're not tiptoeing, they're fucking stomping on my face," he says. "Come on, I'm going back downstairs."

"What for?" 

"I'm gonna fuckin' yell at her."


	13. We Can Skip This One, We Already Know Chapter Thirteen Will Be Unlucky.

"Don't."

"Watch me."

Awsten storms downstairs, determined and full of hate. I want to make a stronger case, but I sense there's no stopping him. If he gets hurt it will be all my fault, I know it.

"Mom!" he yells.

She jerks her head up. "Awsty-pie?"

"Can I go to the fireworks with Geoff?!" he shouts. I flinch.

"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea, honey," she says. "You know how you are, and we don't know Geoff well. I'm going to have to say-"

"No!" yells Awsten. "No, no, no. I know! I know I don't have a good track record, but I'm not an infant! I'm fifteen years old!"

"Awsty, I'm aware, but-"

"Is it too much to ask, to just go one place without being chaperoned?" asks Awsten. "I'm not a grade schooler on a field trip! I don't need to be watched every second of every day!"

"I understand that, but-"

"At seven o'clock, on the fourth of July, Geoff's gonna be here to take me to the fireworks, and I'm gonna go with him whether you like it or not."

He's getting too testy with her. I want to drag him away.

"Awsten Constantine Knight, sit down!" she yells, and Awsten gasps.

I hold my breath. From past experience, I know there is no way this will end well. 

"I am your mother, and you will do as I say!" she shouts. "You are not going to those fireworks until you learn to control yourself!"

"But-"

"No buts. You're grounded."

Awsten hangs his head in defeat, and I stare, waiting for the moment to come.

Awsten's mother turns to me. "I'm sorry about that, Jerry."

"It's Geoff," I say.

"What?"

"My name. It's Geoff."

Awsten snickers, and his mother shoots him a death-glare. "I'm sorry, I'm bad with names."

"It's really fine, I space out a lot," I say. 

"Well," she says, taking a big breath, "this has been pleasant, but I have a son to deal with, and I suppose you could stay if you wanted to..."

"Uh, I think I'll just-um-go," I say. "Not to be rude or anything. But I don't think I want to see."

"Alright," she says, and I wave to Awsten. He doesn't wave back, and that sticks in my mind as I leave.

When I get to the sidewalk in front of the house, I remember that my car's still at the pool. 

I turn around, planning on doing a full three-sixty, and jump a few thousand feet in the air. Otto is standing behind me.

"Do you need a ride?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," I say.

"Well, get in, then." He climbs into the front seat, and I call shotgun. 

We drive in silence. It's slightly disconcerting, but Otto doesn't seem to mind. I wish we could play music so I don't have to think.

Otto lets me out in front of the pool gates. I get in my own car and put on the loudest CD I can reach, and drive home as quickly as I can.

*****

I can't sleep that night. All I can think about is Awsten. 

It's very irrational, but I worry he might be hurt or something. I worry he'll be bored out of his skull if he's grounded too long. I worry he'll react to it badly. I. Just. Worry.

I worry too much. 

So much, in fact, that when I get to work the next day (locker room duty), I am running on three and a half hours of sleep. Derek notices and stops me on my way into the locker room.

"Bro, you alright?" he asks.

"Yeah, whatever," I say.

"Good, because all Ryan's friends hate you," he says.

"Okay," I say absently. 

"Did you even hear me?" he asks.

"Uh, not really," I reply.

"All Ryan's friends hate you," he repeats.

"Tell them Geoff says they're just insignificant little pinpricks in the grand scheme of things and will ultimately have no impact on the world."

"That's the longest thing I've ever heard you say," he remarks.

"Well, don't get used to it," I say, knowing he has, in fact, heard me say longer sentences and is just unaccustomed to my massive vocabulary.

"A'ight," he says, and pushes the locker room door open. 

"I'll mop this time," I say. "It looks like the mysterious stains have made a reappearance."

"Honestly, how the fuck do those get there?" he asks.

"Heck if I know."

We attack the locker room and get a solid amount done before the pool opens. I glance at the flood of small children pouring in the pool gates and thank my lucky stars I don't have to lifeguard today. A mom has brought balloons. This is a birthday party. I fucking hate birthday parties.

I say so to Derek, who replies with "Me too."

"Like, there's just too much going on, and to be honest, I don't wanna be reminded of how old I am," I elaborate.

He laughs. "Hey, when's your birthday?"

"Tomorrow."

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"How old?"

"Eighteen," I say.

"Lucky you. I don't turn eighteen for another year," he complains.

"I wouldn't recommend it," I say. "You have something called responsibilities. Those suck worse than an insecure top with a fragile masculinity."

"Wha-" he begins, then stops himself. "Wait, no. I get it."

"Anyway, don't age," I advise. 

"That might be hard," he says. 

"Well, don't," I say. 

A car pulls up in front of the pool, and Derek cranes his neck to look in the front seat. "My ride's here."

"Oh. See you, then."

"See you." He gets in the back seat of the car, and I make my way to my own.

I fumble with the keys and practically collapse into the front seat. I shove my copy of All Killer No Filler into the CD slot and take off for my house. 

My aunt and uncle aren't home. My sister is probably smoking weed somewhere with her friends. I have the house to myself. Yay, I guess.

I am an hour and a half into a rousing game of Legend of Zelda when the phone rings.

Sighing, I pause the game, set down my controller, and go answer it.

"Hey, this is the Wigington residence, how may I help you?"

"Geoffrey? That you?"

Oh no. It's a feminine voice, an old, raspy, grating feminine voice, an all-too familiar feminine voice. 

"Geoffrey?"

"What do you want?" I ask, accenting every word. "Because I thought I told you to never speak to me again."

"Geoffrey, calm down, no need to be too hasty-"

"Actually, I think there is," I say. "I never wanted to hear from you again, not after last year, not after what you did to me, and you come calling like you're welcome."

"Have some sympathy," she says. "That was a whole year ago."

"A year's not that long," I say. "But I bet it sure felt that way to you, locked inside that cell, looking at the same bars every day."

"Calm yourself," she says. "I can find ways to pass the time. They let us outside sometimes, oh, have I told you how nice the garden is-"

"No, and I don't care about the garden," I say. "You deserve it. You deserve to be in there forever, you deserve to never be able to go outside again, you deserve everything bad that's happened to you and will ever happen to you."

"Why don't you take some pity on your poor old mom?"


	14. Fourteen? Why Does The World Hate Me?

"I can't pity you," I spit into the phone.

"I thought you'd be more accepting," she said. "I thought you were all about being accepting."

"Shut up! Shut up! You're pathetic and manipulative-"

"Now, Geoffrey, there's no need for that kind of language-"

"You know what?" I say. "I think there is. That's what you are, you're nothing but controlling and abusive and perverted-"

"What happened to my precious little boy?"

"You happened!" I yell. "You and your dirty husband both-"

"Don't talk about your father like that-"

"He's. Not. My. Father," I say, "and you're not my mother."

""Why, yes I am-"

"You have no right to call yourself my mother," I say. "Mothers are supposed to be loving and caring and supportive-"

"It can't be helped-"

"Yes, it can," I say. "You did it all yourself. You came up with the plan, you carried it out, you got caught. This is your fault. You deserve the rest of your life in that prison."

"Geoff-"

"I hope you die! I hope they retry you and your husband, and I hope they give you the death penalty! I hope you fucking die!"

"You don't mean-"

"Oh, yes, I do! I never want to hear from you again, and if I must, it better be a funeral invitation."

I take a deep breath, hang up, and run upstairs to my bedroom. 

Fuckuckuckuckuckuckuckuckuckuckuckuck...

I thought she was done. I thought I was safe from her. I guess not.

I hate everything now, because I can't stop thinking about last year. Honestly, I thought I'd be over it by now, but I'm not. People were telling me I should be over it in January. I should be okay. I should be back to normal.

But I'm not.

And it's all their fault.

I don't even care enough to pick out a new CD to put in my player. I just slam the play button, and Viva La Cobra starts up. It makes me think of Awsten. But, then again, most things do nowadays.

His hair is nice. I want to pet it sometime. I move to get my phone to text him, but remember he is grounded and can't use his phone. Yay, no distractions other than the music. 

Dimly, I wonder if I have enough upper-body strength to climb through his bedroom window and sneak him out. He probably wouldn't be able to climb back down, though. Also I might get arrested. I promised Jenna I wouldn't get arrested until I graduated college.

Fuck this shit. I need to get out of my head.

I sigh deeply and trudge downstairs and play Legend of Zelda for a while because I'm a fucking nerd.

My aunt and uncle get home at six. They make dinner. I eat the dinner. Then I go to bed.

The next morning, I wake up, and I am eighteen years old. My birthday is an unimportant event, but this one is a bit more special, because I am now an adult.

Regardless, I still have to go to work.

Fast-forward six or so hours. Nothing interesting happened at work, unless you count the kid I had to call an ambulance on after he attempted to impress his friends by shooting hot-tub water out his...never mind.

I am bored, so I drive over to Awsten's and see if his mother will let me in.

His house is a house. It has not changed. I park my car on the curb in front of his house and get out.

Nervously, I knock on the door. His mother pokes her head out. "Why hello, Gerard!"

"Geoff."

"Right. Come on in." She beckons me through the doorway and invites me to sit down at the dining room table. I accept this invitation, though I only have one thing on my mind.

"Is Awsten here?"

"He's at therapy. Tea?" she asks, bustling around the kitchen and coming up with a black kettle.

"Um, sure," I say. She opens a cupboard and pulls out a tiny pink teacup. After pouring the tea, she deposits it in front of me. I take a sip, with my little finger out because fuck you, and inwardly shiver at the taste. She conveniently left out the part where it was green tea. 

"Is it alright?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah," I say, and continue drinking it.

She takes a seat next to me at the table. "What brings you here?"

"Uh, I wanted to see Awsten," I say.

"Oh, don't bother with Awsten," she says. "He can be...temperamental at times."

"But I wanted to see if he was okay," I say.

"Okay? That boy's okay changes every day," she chuckles. "I feel like a superhero for being his mother."

Alarm bells ring in my head. "So, um, when will he be back from therapy?"

"Around twenty minutes," she says

"Can I stay that long?" I ask.

"Of course, Jeremy."

"Geoff."

"Right."

She leaves me to my own devices. I don't do anything out of fear I will look silly.

True to his mother's word, Awsten arrives twenty minutes later. 

I stand up when he comes in, closely followed by Otto. "Hey."

"Geoff!" he says. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"Well, I am," I say.

He crosses the room and takes the chair next to mine. Up close, I can see that his eyes are tinged with red. "Now that you're here, get me the fuck out."

"Language, Awsty-pie," calls his mother from the kitchen.

"Don't mind her," he says. "But please, get me out."

"Always," I say. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Anywhere but here!" he says. "But preferably outside."

"Awsten," says his mother, "you're still grounded."

"I don't care," he mutters.

"I know a place," I say. "But if we don't hurry, we might hit the afternoon traffic."

"Then let's hurry," he says, and springs up from his chair.  He bounds out the front door on his shaky newborn-fawn legs, and I chase after him to make sure he's alright. His mother calls out his name, but it doesn't matter. He's already halfway to my car.

"Aws! You can't get into the car without me!" I shout as he reaches the passenger-side door. he smirks and opens the door.

Fuck. I forgot to lock the car.

"Or maybe you can," I murmur, and pop into the driver's seat.

I start down the road, Awsten bouncing beside me, and try to remember where the cemetery is in relation to his house. "Put on some music," he says, and I smile.

"Any preference?" I ask.

"No," he says, and I put on "All-Star" by Smash Mouth.

He looks at me like I've killed a baby.

"Okay, fine, I do have a preference," he says. "Put on Panic! at the Disco."

"Thought so," I say, and shove A Fever You Can't Sweat Out into the car stereo. 

"Much better," he says, and grins, melting my cold, dead heart.

"So, tell me about your life," I say.

"Well, as of now, it's quite a nice one," he says. "But only 'cause you're here."

"Aw," I say. 

"Don't get a big head," he says, and I laugh.

It goes on like that for another fifteen minutes, until I find the cemetery.

It's a nice cemetery. If I were dead, I'd want to be buried here. It's right on the outskirts of town. There's lots of trees and flowers and there's a little stream that runs just past it into the wooded area behind. When I was four, I fell into the stream. It was a historic event.

"We're here," I say, parking.

"You took me to a graveyard?" he asks.

"It's not a graveyard, it's a cemetery," I say, "and it's a damn nice one at that."

"Never been here," he says.

"You're missing out," I say.

"How do you even know about this place?" he asks. "Lot of death in your family?"

"My great-grandma's buried here," I say. "It's not that sad to me, I didn't know her. But my family went here all the time when I was younger to pay respects. I just ran around, because I was little."

"Oh," he says.

"But anyway, it's a chilled-out place," I say. "I went here a lot after my first boyfriend ditched me."

"Well, show me its secrets," he says, and I take his hand, ignoring the jolts of electricity that spark through me.

"Right this way," I say, and lead him through the trees to the stream.

When he sees it, he breaks out into a grin. "I love it."

"I figured you would," I say.

"I get why little Geoff just ran around," he says. "I wanna run around."

"So? Run around," I say.

He smiles wider and takes off down the stream. I shoot after him, eventually stopping when he reaches a few rocks nestled in the banks.

"This was one of my favorite spots," I say.

"I can see why," he says. "This is so pretty. Why didn't you take me here sooner?"

"It's a bit of a personal place for me," I say.

"Ah," he says.

"You wanna sit?" I ask, gesturing to the rocks.

"Sure!" he says, and we mount the lowest one. I sit cross-legged and am done with it, but Awsten takes off his shoes and socks and rolls up his skinny jeans so he can stick his feet in the water.

The silence is a nice kind of silence. The water is rushing, the birds are singing, the branches are shaking, and Awsten Knight is breathing. 

It's not like any other quiet I've experienced. It's not chilling, or unsettling, or lonely. It's nice. It is a moist, warm day, and I have a lovely guy next to me, and there's a tiny chance he thinks I'm lovely too. The closest I've come to something like this is when I was here alone before I met Awsten, and even that was different. That was a darker kind of silence.

"Did you ever have a place like this?"

"Not really," he says. "Just Nadalrad Park, and maybe Otto's backyard if I was lucky."

"I went to Nadalrad for the WiFi, and here for the aesthetic," I say.

He laughs. "Got to have that aesthetic."

I could sit with him forever.


	15. Fifteen Can Shove Itself Up My Ass.

I take Awsten home from the cemetery at around six. It's a nice, quiet drive, and he looks adorably sleepy. When we arrive at his house, I find out that he actually is, in fact, asleep.

"Aws," I say, nudging him gently, "wake up."

He stays asleep, and I nudge him again.

"Awsten, we're here."

Still, he doesn't wake up. I undo my seatbelt, hop out of the car, and walk over to his side.

"Awsten, if you don't wake up, I'm gonna carry you."

Well, he's a deep sleeper. I nudge him a few more times and wonder how he's so deeply asleep after sitting down for twenty minutes. He was awake at the traffic jam we got caught in. 

I sigh and unbuckle his seatbelt, hoping he might wake up when I do, but he doesn't. I smile and scoop him up. He's not heavy. I carry him bridal-style down his front path and ring his doorbell with my elbow. His mom laughs when she sees us.

"What'd you do to wear him out that much?" she asks.

"Uh, honestly, I don't know," I say. "What do I do now?"

"Just put him on the couch," she says. "I'm officially ungrounding him."

"Why?" I ask. "Uh, not that I'm complaining, but what changed your mind?"

"He like-likes you," she jokes.

"Really?" I say.

"Well, aren't you two dating?" she asks.

"I suppose so, but I haven't brought out the b-word yet," I say. "Don't wanna scare him away. Anyway, my arms are getting tired."

"Oh, of course," she says, and moves out of the way so I can set Awsten down. He's so adorable, and I have the urge to kiss him gently on the cheek, but I push it aside. He'd think I'm weird, and besides, I don't know how much kissing he's alright with.

"Bye, Aws," I whisper, and run my hand through his hair. 

Surprisingly, his mother doesn't stop me when I turn to leave.

 

"I hope to see you again, Josh," she says.

"Geoff," I correct on my way out the door.

"Sorry," she calls. I smile and walk down the front path to my car.

*****

At home, there is a cupcake prepared for me with a candle stuck in it.

"Happy birthday," says Rebecca as I walk in. "You have to learn how to pay taxes now."

"Oh, shut up," I joke. "Where's Aunt Nicole and Uncle David?"

"Upstairs," she says. "They're putting some affairs in order."

"Uh, what kind of affairs?" I ask.

"It's not important," said Rebecca, moving over to the cupboard drawers and taking out a lighter. She lights the candle on my cupcake. "Don't blow that out yet. They'll be down in a moment."

As if on cue, my aunt and uncle rush downstairs and shout "Surprise!" in perfect unison.

I laugh. "Oh my god, I had no idea it was my birthday."

"We threw you a whole party!" says my aunt. "We have balloons and everything!"

"What?"

"There." She points to the fridge. Taped to the door are two uninflated balloons.

"Thank you so much," I say sarcastically. "Really appreciate the massive amount of effort that must've taken."

"I'm glad," says my aunt in the same tone of voice I used.

"But really, thanks," I say.

"Don't mention it," she says. "Now, everyone, get ready!"

"Ready for-"

"Happy birthday to you," they shriek, horrendously off-key. I put my head in my hands and almost catch my hair on fire. 

They finish the song, and I blow out the candle. "Yay, I'm old," I say. 

I hope they don't make too big a deal out of this. I still don't like birthday parties, and it's not that special. Lucky for me, the actions taper off from there, and by nine I find myself in my bedroom, preparing to go to bed really frickin' early.

When I wake up the next morning, it is five. I yawn, stretch, and flop onto my bedroom floor. Why did I agree to work two shifts today?

So I'd have tomorrow off, I remind myself, and I won't have to think about it. I can go into town, maybe bring Awsten with me, and have a good fucking time, and it won't be like last year. 

My two shifts go shockingly smooth.

I get home and crash on the couch. I am home alone.

I text Awsten.

G: Let's go out tomorrow. I'll pick you up at ten, maybe ten-thirty, and we'll go out. I'll take you to the fireworks afterwards. Bring a swimsuit.

He replies six and a half minutes later.

A: OMG OF COURSE

G: I figured you'd want to.

A: You'd really do that for me?

G: Absolutely. You're perfect.

A: YOU'RE SO SWEET

G: Don't get too excited. I have an ulterior motive.

A: Oh, really?

G: Yes. I need something to do tomorrow so I'm not sulky and sad and shit.

A: Why'd you be sulky?

G: Nothing significant, just something happened last year that pretty much ruined the fourth of July for me. But I'm fine. I'll probably end up telling you later.

A: Okay. But I'll still go with you because you're nice and I like you.

G: I'll be there at ten.

He doesn't reply, and I set my phone down and go upstairs to the linen closet to prepare. I stock up the trunk of my car with towels, sunscreen, and other shit you being to the beach. 

When I'm done, I retire to my level of Legend of Zelda, and that is all I do for the rest of the afternoon.

The next morning, sunlight slaps me in the face when I open my eyes. I sigh and reach up to close the window. It is nine.

Wait, fuck.

I scramble out of bed, put on my swimsuit and the lightest pair of jeans I have, and rush to the bathroom to do the morning activities involving a brush.   
Within ten minutes, my hair is presentable and my teeth are violently scrubbed. I walk downstairs and toast myself a bagel. I eat quickly, hoping I still have enough time to pack up the cooler and drive to Awsten's and be there by ten. He doesn't live that far. I'll be alright.

After finishing my bagel, I run over to the cabinet, haul out the cooler, and put stuff in it that I think Awsten will like. When I go to take it out to the car, it is heavier than I expected, but fuck it. I carried Awsten, I can carry this. I shove it in the trunk, run back upstairs and grab the directions and a few albums, and dash back down. I throw open my front door and hare to the car. I start the engine and damn nearly forget where Awsten lives, but recall it soon enough to have fifteen whole minutes to get over there.   
He is on his front porch when I pull up, and stands almost immediately. I wave. 

Grinning, he starts down his front path. I unlock the passenger side door as he approaches, and he instantly clambers in.

"What's up, G-spot?" he says, fastening his seatbelt.

"Nothing much,"  I say. "What about you?"

"Same," he says. "Where are we going first?"

"It's a surprise," I say. 

"I mean, you asked me to bring a swimsuit, so that narrows it down," he points out as I start up the car.

"Fine, we're going to the beach," I say. 

"Yes!" he says. "Because I may've brought a wetsuit."

"Good, because this particular beach has a chance to be really fucking cold," I say, and put From Under The Cork Tree into the CD slot. 

The picture-snapping sounds, and Awsten beams. "Oh, this is my jam."

"It's one of my many jams," I say, and he laughs.

With him next to me, the hour-long drive to the beach is a lot shorter. We talk about literally everything, and this time I do mean "literally" as in how most people use it to mean "figuratively." We don't talk about vaginas. We talk about quantum physics and philosophy and Alex Suarez's thighs. 

When we get there, it is conveniently not crowded. I reflect on how extraordinarily lucky I am to be off work on the fourth of July and have the beach not be crowded for me and my lovely Awsten. This luck is decidedly fanfiction-like.

Awsten lets out a whoop and practically leaps out of the car. I smile and get out with him, and unpack the trunk.

"Can you carry the towels? They're not that heavy," I say. 

"Sure!" he exclaims, and I hand him the bag. 

He's so excited, it's adorable. I drag out the cooler and close the trunk. Of course, he's already taken off.

"Awsten, wait up!" I call, but to no avail. He keeps running. I sigh and chase after him.

This is gonna be fun as fuck.


	16. Sixteen? For Fuck's Sake, Look Away!

We find a nice place without many people to place our stuff. As soon as we have our towels spread out, Awsten takes off his shirt to reveal the fucking wetsuit underneath.

I smile and shimmy off my jeans, and deposit them on one of the towels. Because I am a massive fucking loser, I have on a rashguard and swim trunks to cover my weird-ass stomach. Awsten looks much better than me in his sleek black wetsuit, which must be a child-size or it wouldn't stay on his skinny self. He notices me looking and grins.

"What?" he says, taking on an exaggerated dramatic voice. "I get cold easy!"

I laugh. "Pass me the sunscreen."

He hands me the bottle and I paint myself white. No sooner have I stuck my last leg hair to myself that he runs gay to the water's edge.

"Wait up, you little-" I stumble on a piece of seaweed as I chase after him. "Screw you!"

"Ha, ha-yikes!" he sputters as he touches the water. "Fuck, that's cold."

I catch up to him and let the first wave wash over my feet. "It's not that cold."

"You're barely in!" he shouts.

"You're literally only up to your ankles," I point out.

"Fine," he says. "But you've only touched it once! You can't complain!"

I wade out farther until I pass Awsten. "Still not that cold."

He pouts. "Easy for you to say. You're an average weight."

"You kidding?" I say. "I'm fat."

"Puh-lease," he says. "You wouldn't be considered fat in France, where everyone's fancy and model-y and shit."

I simply laugh and wade farther out.

My leg brushes a slimy thing and I jump.

"Ew! Slimy thing!"

"You're a wimp," says Awsten, who I realize is much closer to me than he was before.

"I am not," I say, crossing my arms. 

He laughs and freezes in place. "Fuck. I touched the slimy thing too. I see what you mean."

I snicker and take a few more steps out. I am submerged past my knees, on the prowl for more slimy things to avoid, when Awsten decides to jump on my back. Naturally, I freak the fuck out and face-plant in the water.

Awsten scrambles up, and when I'm sure he's out of the way, I push myself above the surface and spit out an unacceptable amount of salt water. My eyes sting, and I am cold, but Awsten's laughing, and I have to join in.

"Are you okay?" he asks between breaths.

"I'm good," I say, smiling and standing up all the way. "Just cold."

Awsten flicks my wet hair out of my face. "Can I make it up to you?"

"Wh-"

Without another word, he tips forward and flawlessly executes a perfect belly-flop. I kneel down next to where his face probably is.

He springs up, grinning, teeth chattering, and shifts to a sitting position. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and he has a slimy thing wrapped around one of his shoulders. Grimacing slightly, I pluck it off him and throw it back out to sea. 

"Now that we're both soaked, let's see how far we can go out," he says, and I barely have the chance to nod before he leaps to his feet and wades at an alarmingly fast pace.  

"What happened to you being cold?" I ask, trying to catch up. 

"Nothing," he says. "I'm still fucking cold." 

I smile and chase him out into the open sea. 

We don't go further than our nipples, but it's still a fucking good time, and by the time one o'clock rolls around, Awsten's lips are blue.

"I'm fine," he says, shivering like one of those little dogs.

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "You look like a Yeti."

"I do not!"

"You do," I say. "Uh, you're all pale with blue highlights."

He pouts. "You don't look much better. Your hair's all matted and shit, and you're sunburned as hell."

"I'm always sunburned," I say. "Now come on, let's get you all warm and stuff."

"Fine." He holds out his hand, and I stare at it until I realize he wants me to hold it.

"Uh..." I take his hand awkwardly. His skin would make a snowman put on gloves with how cold it is, but it's very soft. I can feel his bones and probably his blood vessels, which makes my heart skip a beat or two. I am touching a living, breathing person.   
We start in toward the shore.

Awsten's breaths are deep and heavy and I can feel his racing pulse through his hand. That's probably not normal.   
He collapses on one of the towels when we arrive back. Smiling, I kneel down beside him and wrap another towel around his shoulders. He pulls it further around himself. It's cute. He looks so soft. 

I reach out to stroke his hair, but pull my hand back at the last second. 

Some time later, we are both moderately dry, and I want to proceed with part two of my plans.

I nudge Awsten. "D'you wanna go put on clothes and get lunch or something?"

"Um, sure!" he says. 

"Sweet," I say, and we pack the things inside the other things and head up to the beach bathrooms.

Most beaches have shitty bathrooms, but this beach's actually have tile flooring and running water. Also, light sources. Surprisingly few beaches have lights in their bathrooms. Those are good things to have. You know, for aiming. 

Awsten and I creep into separate stalls (you pervs) and put on real clothes. I finish before him, because he probably has skinny jeans to wriggle into, and stare at myself in the mirror above the sinks. My eyes are red-rimmed and I have sand in my eyebrows. I glance around self-consciously, and, realizing the bathroom is empty, wash my face and run my hands through my tangled hair a few times until I look presentable.

"Geoff, you look fine. Let's go."

I turn around. Awsten has finished and is now wearing grey jeans and a light blue baseball shirt. He looks good. "Yeah, let's hit the road," I say, and straighten out my hair.

Because I'm a fucking gentleman, I carry everything back to the car. Awsten hops along beside me, looking cute, and he doesn't need to do anything else. 

At least he pops the trunk when I find my car in the massive ocean that is the parking lot.

I climb into the driver's seat, he takes the passenger, and we are off.

"What album?"

"Dude Ranch," he says, and I am surprised. I didn't think he was trashy like me. Regardless, I put the CD in and drive through the small beach town. 

There are a bunch of cute, quirky little restaurants on the side of the road. I don't pay much attention to them, at least not until Awsten points one out.

"Stop!" he says, and I almost wet myself. 

"What, did I hit someone?"

"No," he says, "but look at that restaurant." 

He points out his window, and, craning my neck, I see that the restaurant that enraptured his attention is called "Chef Geoff's Spice Factory."

"Come on, we have to go there."

I grin and start looking for a parking space. I don't look very hard, though, as there is one literally directly in front of the restaurant. 

Awsten and I get out and look at the menu. It's basic white people food. He nods, very serious, and I face-palm. He laughs.

"Are you sure?" I say, trying not to look amused.

"I'm totally sure," he says. "This place is fucking dumb. I love it. Come on!" Without letting me protest, he enters Chef Geoff's Spice Factory.

There are a few tables open. Awsten is already at the counter, waiting for me to catch up with the money. 

The cashier is a dull lady with pink lip gloss. "What will it be, boys?" she says, slurring the letters together.

Awsten orders a small salad, and I get fish and chips because fuck you. As we take a seat at a table in the front of the place, he smiles at me. "This was fun."

I blush and look down. Aws? The day isn't even half over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't update last week! I was really busy and low on spoons.


	17. Why Is Seventeen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's probably gonna need a trigger warning for just...everything.

Fast-forward three hours.

It is five. Awsten and I have been window-shopping in the little beach town, and someone has a new sweater and an eclectic shell thing that apparently he had to get or the world would end. Really, though, I don't mind. I'd buy him things any day.

Now, though, he's totally fucking exhausted and I think it's time to head back. Partially because Aws looks like death, and because part three happens there.

"Hey," I say. "D'you wanna wrap this up?"

He yawns, and I take that as a yes.

"Come on, let's get back to the car," I say, smiling. 

Awsten yawns again. "Alright, alright."

"Here, lean on me," I say, and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He presses against me and I start walking in the general direction of the beach parking lot. 

It's a sleepy drive back. I'm kind of tired; I could do with a cappuccino right about now, and Awsten's in danger of nodding off in my car again. I may or may not have stopped at a Starbucks drive-through without telling him. 

Eventually we are back in our corner of Houston. I parallel-park the car in front of Nadalrad Park, the location of part three (and conveniently parts four and five), and gently tap Awsten on the shoulder.

"Mm?" he says.

"Uh, we're here," I say. "Come on, get out."

He sighs and undoes his seatbelt and climbs out. I lock the car, double-checking to make sure it's actually locked and nobody will steal it, and start to the picnic area. 

"What are we doing here?" he asks. "Don't the fireworks start at eight?"

"Well, yeah," I say, "but we're getting dinner in one of the cute little restaurants over there-" I point "-and we're here early enough to get good seats."

"Smart," he says. "Which restaurant?"

"Uh, Dickens Diner," I say. "It's the one across from the Starbucks."

"The classic literature-themed pizza place?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. I've never been there."

I smile and almost trip over a displaced chunk of concrete upon entering the picnic area.

Dickens Diner is possibly the most underrated pizza place in Houston. It's got good pizza for not too expensive. Sure, all the waiters speak exclusively in Shakespearian English, but it's not like they make you talk like that too.

"Hark! What bringeth you gentlemen here?" says the man at the reception desk when we walk in. 

"Uh, the pizza," I say. "Table for two, please."

"O, our pizza doth bring a pleasantness to the tongue," says the reception man. "I shall seat thee."

He walks down an aisle of tables and stops by a little one by a window.

"Is this one befitting?"

"Yeah, it's great," I say. "Thank you."

"Your wish is my command," he says. "I shall return promptly to taketh thine order."

Awsten and I sit down at the table. The tabletop is decorated with the pages of old books covered by a glass sheet. It's pretty.

"So," says Awsten, "that dude's interesting."

"Don't you know?" I ask. "They all talk like that."

"This'll be great," he jokes, rolling his eyes.

*****

It's great.

It's so great, in fact, that I almost forget it's the Fourth of July and there are gonna be fireworks.

Aws and I finish our dinner at seven-fifteen. We pay, tipping the waiter extra for wearing a fake mustache and Elizabethian ruff, and start over to the field.

The stage thing for the kid who sings the national anthem has already been set up, and there are a few people already camped out on the grass. Awsten bounds over to a spot separated from the rest by a few rocks. He flops down onto the grass, and I sit next to him, listening to his cute little giggles as he rolls around. He's soft. I love him.

Orange sunlight bathes his face, illuminating his eyes. I fucking love his eyes. They're pretty eyes. They're the first eyes I've felt compelled to look at. They look even better in the sunset, I realize.

The cheesy "AMERICA WOOO" music starts up from the stage, and Awsten sits up. "Is it starting?"

"Nah," I say. "The national anthem starts at like seven-forty-five, and then the fireworks."

"Oh," he says. "What do we do in between?"

Hastily, I glance around. The crowd is starting to fill in around us, but the rocks prevent anyone from getting within earshot. Awsten has good instincts. "We talk."

"About what?" he asks nervously. 

"Today's the anniversary," I say, beginning part four. This is the hard part.

"Anniversary?"

"I want to tell you about me," I start, looking down and away from him. "But the story's a bit graphic. If you don't wanna hear it..."

“I’ll be okay,” he says. “To be honest, I’m more concerned about you. Are you okay telling me?”

I nod my head. “Yeah. At this point, I think you should know. I might freak out. If I do, remind me what year it is, and don’t touch me.”

“Got it.”

I take a deep breath and begin. “It started last April. I knew my parents were conservative, but I didn’t think they’d react so badly when they found out I was gay. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

My voice starts to crack, and I can feel the memories threatening me. For Awsten’s sake, I try to hold it together.

“My mother made it clear she thought I was scum. To outsiders, she seemed like the poster mom, but inside, she’d spit in my face and call me a dirty faggot every chance she got. I started doing all the chores in the house in the hopes she’d lay off me for one day, but nothing.

“My father joined in every time. He was somewhat more intimidating, but I wasn’t scared of his words. He would hit me every time I did something remotely wrong, and told me if I told anyone, it would be a lot worse. I took his word for it and kept my mouth shut, even after he started breaking beer bottles on my face.”

Awsten stiffens beside me, and I go on. “I couldn’t deal. I started cutting myself, and I’d tell myself I deserved it. I deserved to be hurt, because I was dirty and a disappointment to my family. I didn’t do it on my arms, though. I did it on my legs, where no one would see.”

It’s shameful to talk about this, and I feel sick to my stomach. It’s not shame, though. It’s at least ten times stronger than shame. “One night in May, they decided they’d had enough and gave themselves a reason to call me dirty.”

I can’t say it. I allow Awsten to fill in the blanks. This is so wrong, and I shouldn’t have even started talking about it, but I can’t stop now. I’m so weak and pathetic, and Awsten probably thinks so, and I kept this a secret for a reason, because I am dirty and wrong and should’ve just sucked it up. “It wasn’t the only time.”

My voice is breaking, and I can barely keep it together. Tears are forming at the corners of my eyes. I push them away. I won’t cry. “I still kept up my lie around my school friends. I pretended everything was okay. Once I showed up with a massive bruise on my face and told my friends I’d fallen. Only one of them had any doubts; the others just went with it.

“At the beginning of June, I applied for a job. The same job I have now. I didn’t get it, though, as you have to have a clearance form from a doctor to do any kind of physical job. I went in to get my clearance form, and my doctor found my cuts. I was sent off to see a social worker, and she made me tell her everything.

“She asked me if I wanted to report it, and I said yes. So I did. And my parents were arrested. I moved in with my aunt and uncle. Today last year my parents got a trial. They’re in prison now. 

“I did okay for a few weeks. Then my friends started losing interest in me, because I wasn’t like the old Geoff. Old Geoff was smiley and perky and always had something sweet and funny to say, because he didn’t hate the world and everyone in it. I was jumpy and neurotic and depressed and I might’ve done some drugs. So they left, one by one, until I only had my closest friend, Jawn, and my boyfriend Zakk."

I am definitely crying by this point. “Then in March of this year, my aunt and uncle got worried about me because I was somehow jumpier and more neurotic and more depressed, and they decided I should spend some time in a psych ward. So I did, and Zakk and Jawn hooked up all three days I was gone. So I was alone for the rest of the year. Until now.”

Awsten breathes. “You’ve kinda got a new start this summer, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got friends now, and they like me because they don’t know any other Geoff. Jenna’s a bit of a bitch, but she can be sweet, and if Derek doesn’t like me, he hides it really well. And of course I’ve got you, and I’ve got a spot at a cute little college in California.”

“You’re going to college?” he asks.

I laugh through my tears. “Don’t sound so surprised. Yes, I got into college. I didn’t have any friends, so that gave me extra time to study for my SAT. I have to study if I wanna get anywhere in life, because I’m just naturally fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” says Awsten, and I laugh derisively.

“I didn’t talk until I was four, I didn’t read until I was seven, and I got straight Ds until my eighth-grade math teacher noticed I was struggling and taught me how to study. I had to study obsessively just to pass classes up until the end of this year. All those color-coded study guides and note-taking layouts they made with us in class? They never helped me. I just had to stare at the fucking page until whatever it was I was trying to learn got through my thick skull. I am stupid.”

“There’s more than one way to be smart,” says Awsten. 

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really,” he says. “Like, you don’t do well in school, but you’re the nicest fucking person I’ve ever met.”

“Please,” I say. “I’m not nice.”

“Yeah, you are,” says Awsten. “You’re kind and sweet and considerate…you’re just so nice. And you got a way with words. It’s almost like you’re being narrated by an emo writing angsty fanfiction alone in his bedroom, with one hand on his dick and the other on his Fall Out Boy limited edition vinyl.”

“If both his hands are full, what’s he typing with?”

“His dick, of course. That’s why he has a hand on it.”

I laugh, and this time it’s a real laugh. “Well, thanks.”


	18. Eighteen Is Incomprehensible.

The first firework goes off.

It's a burst of golden flames, spanning the sky above us like a spiderweb. Awsten's eyes widen, the irises reflecting the little dots of light. It's a sight worth a thousand dates.

The next fireworks follow in quick succession, one after another, trailing past the Houston summer stars, leaving rainbows of ash in their wake. The field is alight with the glow of explosions and sparks. Beautiful. 

Awsten presses up to me, and I don't flinch. I let him lean on my shoulder and wrap my arm around his shoulders. His breathing is steady, reassuring, non-threatening. I can almost feel his heartbeat.

Two fireworks erupt next to each other, one blue, one green, and I can't help but to think of his eyes.

I lean in and place a small kiss on his cheek.

He gasps, and I immediately fear the worst.

"Sorry!" I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he says. "I just...didn't expect it."

"I really am...sorry," I say. 

"No, really," he says, "that was great. Thanks."

"Anytime?" I say. 

He giggles. "Come on, the fireworks are still going off."

"Can't miss those."

*****

A stream of red rockets trace patterns into the smoke-blanketed sky, closing the fireworks show. My ears are ringing, my arm's numb from holding Awsten,  and I'm half-blind from the flashing, but I'm on top of the fucking world. I feel so liberated. I mean, it is Independence Day.

"Aws?" I nudge him.

"M' awake," he mumbles, slowly unfolding his spindly legs and standing up. I get to my feet too and take his hand.

"What'd you think?" I ask.

"Amazing," he says, "fucking amazing."

"I'm fond of it myself," I say, smiling. "Uh, let's get back to the car, shall we?"

"Let's," he says.

We make our way to the car without any more words.

I'm about halfway to his house when he says, "I just remembered. My parents are gonna be out all night."

"You dumbass!" I say. "How'd you forget that?"

"Well, you're here..." he trails off.

"Okay, fine," I say, smirking. "I suppose I should invite you to spend the night at my place."

"I suppose I should accept that invitation," he says.

"Uh, then I've got to turn this fucking car around," I say.

After multiple attempts, I get back to my aunt and uncle's house in one piece, more or less, and park in their driveway.

I help Aws out of the car and lead him into my living room.

"So this is where you live," he muses.

"You've been here before," I remind him.

"Oh. Right," he says. "Where's your bedroom?"

"Uh, it's upstairs," I say. "Just follow me."

I take him to my trashy pop-punk boy bedroom and sit down on the edge of my basic-ass bed. "Wow," he says, "your room's exactly like I imagined it to be."

"It's not like I'm unpredictable," I say. "Come sit down."

He sits down next to me. "I'm so tired. But it's only nine. But I'm still tired."

"Uh, today was a pretty long day," I say. "You deserve your beauty sleep."

"What beauty?" he murmurs.

"The one sitting next to me, uh, named Awsten Knight," I say.

"Smooth," he says, and yawns.

"Do you want to just, like, snuggle or something?" I say.

"Sounds good. Let's do that."

The next thing I know, it's the next morning and I'm the little spoon.

I stifle a giggle, averting my eyes at the sun streaming in through my bedroom window, and flop out of bed like a dead fish. Awsten is on my bed. Why is Awsten here? Oh. Right. I invited him here.

"Wake up, little bitch," I say, shaking his shoulder. 

He remains asleep.

"Wake me up inside," I say, and poke him.

"Fuck you."

"Good morning to you too," I say. 

"What? Oh-Geoff?!" 

"Don't worry," I say, smiling at his fear, "I forgot too. It's chill. You're at my house."

"What are you doing on the floor?"

"Uh, I'll get into that later," I say. "In the meantime, we should probably do the, um, morning stuff."

"Crap. My parents are probably worried sick about me," he says.

Oh. Fuck, he's right. "Uh, text them," I say. "Tell them you're at my place. Your mom seems to like me alright."

"She really does," he says. "She probably wishes you were older."

I shudder. "Just text your parents."

"Alright, alright," he says, and produces his phone out of thin air. He punches a few buttons, and I curl into a ball on the floor and rock back and forth until he's done. 

He puts his phone away (where?) and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, almost kicking me in the face.  "Do you want to shower or anything?" I ask.

"Um, sure," he says. "But: what kind of body wash do you use?"

"Uh, I don't pay attention to the brands," I say. "Just whatever makes me smell nice."

"Well, okay," he says. "Where's your bathroom?"

I point to the bathroom literally attached to my bedroom. "There."

"Oh," he says, and gets up to go moisten himself.

He's in there for ten minutes at most and comes back out with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Um..."

"D'you want to borrow some of my clothes?" I say with a chuckle.

"Um, yeah, that might be a good idea," he says. 

I go to my closet and produce a white sweater and the tightest pair of skinny jeans I have, and hand them to him. He nods, smiles, and goes back into the bathroom to clothe himself.

When he comes back out, I look at his jeans and wordlessly hand him a belt. 

"Sorry," I say.

"It's not on you," he says, grinning. "I'm just tiny."

"You're so tiny!"

"Yeah, well," he says, threading my belt through the loops on his jeans and tightening it to the first notch. 

"Uh, I'm gonna shower now," I say when he has his pants at a reasonable height, and he nods. 

I take my shower, change into some nerdy shit, and come back out to find Awsten looking through my CD collection.

"You like it?" I ask. 

"You have the Shrek soundtrack?" he asks, holding up the case.

"Don't judge me," I say, and snatch the CD. "Maybe I like Smash Mouth."

"Or maybe you're just hip," he says, thrusting.

I widen my eyes. "No way."

He straightens up. "But other than that, you got a pretty good taste. You've got so many Sum 41 albums."

"I've got them all," I say. "I fucking love Sum 41."

"I guessed."

"Anyway," I say, "what time do your parents want you back?"

"Probably before twelve," he says.

"Uh, want me to make you some breakfast or something?" I ask. 

"Sure," he says.

I lead him downstairs and invite him to sit on the couch, but he refuses, instead insisting on hovering over my shoulder while I make fuckin' pancakes. I'm okay with it, but I don't want to accidentally spill hot oil on him or something.

The pancakes don't come out amazing, but they don't fail either. They're pancakes. I assume my aunt, uncle, and sister have gone out to brunch like they usually do nowadays, so Awsten and I have the house to ourselves to eat our breakfast.

After I finish my first pancake, I look up at Awsten. He's still staring blankly at his untouched breakfast. "Are you alright?" I ask.

"Um. Yeah," he says.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he says.

I get up to get another pancake. By the time I've finished that one too, Awsten has barely eaten an eighth of his pancake. "You really sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, I just eat slow," he says. 

"Uh, alright," I say, and put my plate in the sink. 

He finishes another eighth of his pancake. Then another. Then it's twelve.

"Should I take you home now?"

"Oh, fuck," he says, looking up at the oven clock. "Yeah, that might be a good idea."

"Let's go, I'll put on Viva la Cobra in the car."


	19. Get Out, Nineteen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because why not?

Things are back to normal the next day at work.

It's surreal. After what I said to Awsten, I expect the world to somehow be different, yet it's the same. He's still watching Otto swim, Jenna's still sorting papers, Derek's still scrubbing floors, and I'm still watching kids break rules.

A particularly enthusiastic kid is putting his own swim trunks into the filter gates when Derek comes in. He stands by the door to the office for a good twenty minutes, looking like he's waiting for someone. And the someone is Ryan, who enters the pool deck in skinny jeans and leads Derek into the office.

Okay, I'm a little curious. 

Hesitantly, in case the kid's swim trunks clog the drain and cause an explosion of hair and dead insects, I step out of the lifeguard chair and meander towards the office. 

Jenna is inside, talking to someone on the phone. Derek and Ryan must be in the staff locker room. I brush past Jenna like I'm looking for something, and maintain a position in the back of the office by the locker room entrance. 

"...you wouldn't come here," says Derek. "I'm gonna get caught, and I don't wanna lose this job."

"Lil D, you invited me here," says Ryan. "You said you wanted to talk. So let's talk."

"Fine," says Derek. "But you know I hate sneaking around like this."

"It's not sneaking around," says Ryan. "We're just being safe."

"I know," says Derek, "but I wish we could go places together without pretending we're not together."

They're together.

I thought they hated each other. 

"I get you, but we live in Texas," says Ryan. "We'd get shot."

"Or worse."

"Hey, don't worry about that right now," says Ryan. "Nobody knows we're here, so theoretically, we can do whatever we want."

"In a locker room?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my-Ryan, you don't-"

"My parents are home. Your parents are home. The locker room floor is as clean as it's ever gonna get. How about it?" asks Ryan.

"What if Jenna can hear us?"

"Just don't be too loud. It's like seven minutes in heaven, but we've got as much time as we want."

"Yeah, we've got until I get fired for blowing a dude on the job."

"No one knows we're here."

"Okay. Fine. I love your ass."

I can't hear any more; evidently Derek has a dick in his mouth and Ryan's trying to keep quiet. 

Well, shit. 

Biting my lip, I amble out of the office, past Jenna, and back to my lifeguard chair. No one has drowned since I've been eavesdropping on my apparently gay friend and his former nemesis getting hard off each other in a locker room. All is well.

La la la, fuck this job. 

It isn't until I get home that afternoon that I start letting my mind wander. My aunt and uncle won't get home until four, I've got time.

Before I realize it, it's four o'clock and I've been telling myself I had time to think all afternoon. They burst through the door, Rebecca close behind for some reason, arms full of groceries and shit. "Hello, honey!" shouts my aunt, setting her groceries on the kitchen counter. 

"Hi, Aunt Nicole," I say.

"How has your day been, Geoff, honey?" she asks.

"Um, alright," I say. "I went to work and did my job."

"That's good," she says. "Your uncle and Rebecca and I have been discussing how much we'll miss you when you leave for college this fall."

"Uh, how much?"

"A lot!" she says. "We'll miss having trashy music and video games going in the background while we're doing housework."

"Well, thanks."

"You know I'm kidding, Geoff," she says. "We'll miss much more than that. We'll just miss having you to talk to."

"I'll, uh, miss you too," I say.

"Bet you will," she says. "And your friends, they'll miss you, now won't they?"

"Uh, hopefully," I say. "I sure'll miss them."

"I forgot to ask, did you manage to get a girlfriend this summer?"

"I'm gay."

"Oh, right! Well, did you get a boyfriend?"

"Um, yeah, actually," I say. "He's cute. His name's Awsten."

"I bet he'll miss you too," she says. "Especially since he's your boyfriend."

"Well, I'll totally miss him."

She nods and turns to the groceries, and I look away. I'm certain Awsten is going to miss me. And I'm certain I'll miss him. 

We can find some way to make it work, I tell myself. We'll call each other whenever we get the chance. But junior year gets you a fuckton of homework and college is, well, college. What if...no. We won't lose touch.

Yeah, you will, says the little voice in the back of my head. I ask it to elaborate on this, but it doesn't, leaving me to fulfil that task myself. He and I could both get so swamped in homework we forget to call. Maybe he'll have more friends and get invited to high-school parties. Maybe I'll be the one making friends. 

Nope, too unrealistic. 

So I'll have time for him, but will he have time for me?

I find myself dwelling on this stream of thought for the rest of the day. It's eight when I realize making plans with Awsten might help me get out of this. I text him and set a date for Wednesday evening. 

The date goes well. I take him to dinner at a place called Faire le Con. He wears green and smiles cutely at the waitress when she asks for our order. I can't stop staring at his eyes. His eyes are the first I've felt compelled to look at. They're really pretty. We talk about what we love and I forget what I was worrying about for the night.

But a week passes, and I can't get the thoughts out of my mind.

I have another date with him soon, but I can't stop thinking about what'll happen when fall comes. I won't be able to see him in the sunlight, just sparkling like the little ray of sunshine he is, and I won't be able to hear his natural, sweet, slightly punchy voice. I won't get to see what color sweater he's chosen to wear that day.

When I get to work I decide I need to ask for some fucking advice.

So, I ask the fuckboy.

"So, Derek," I say as he closes the public locker room door behind us.

"What's up?"

"Uh, a friend of mine has a bit of a relationship problem."

He looks up at me. "Tell. I've dated around."

I take a deep breath and begin. "Uh, so this friend, he has a girlfriend, and he's worried about what will happen to their relationship when he goes to college in the fall. They, um, really like each other, like a lot, but he doesn't want his newfound-er-responsibilities to get between them, and he doesn't know if he can, like, manage the long-distance thing."

Derek sets down his mop. "I dunno. I mean, I've had a few long-distance relationships, but nothing like that. The best advice I can give your friend is just to forget about it."

"What?"

"Well, forget about the relationship. The long-distance ones I've been in all ended formally after about six months or so, but I personally think they all ended before that, about two months in."

"Why? What happened?"

He fidgets with the bottom hem of his shirt. "We just kind of...stopped talking to each other regularly. We'd go from calling each other every night and talking for an hour to calling every other week and talking for five minutes. I just didn't know how to make it work."

"Breaking up's really a better option than that?" I ask. "For my friend, I mean."

"I'd say yes. The feelings I was going through during those-when I compare them to my post-breakup stress, the breakups don't feel as bad as the, you know, uncertainty and shit. With breakups, I know what's happened. With stuff like that, I don't know what she's thinking, whether she wants to stay together, if she still remembers we're together..." He trails off. "I'm sorry, that's just my experience."

"Well, um, thank you," I say. "My friend will probably appreciate that."

"Anytime," he says. "I'm always down for girl tips."

I smile weakly and start picking up moist towels. 

Are Awsten and I better off apart?

No. I tell myself we're not. We're going to be together, whatever it takes. I know it. I won't let him go. I won't I won't I won't...

I won't?


	20. Twenty? At Least There's Only Four Chapters Left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because why not?

I am buzzing when I leave the pool.

How could I make myself leave him? Is it worth it? Do I trust Derek enough to take his advice? What would I even say to Awsten? Would he stop coming to the pool?

There's too much to think about. I need to fucking sleep. 

But it's three PM.

I need help. 

I don't go to bed at three in the afternoon, but I do fall asleep relatively early, at about ten. Weird, because I thought the idea of breaking up with Awsten would keep me awake a lot longer than that. 

Of course, it comes back to bite me nine days later, when I've been up at two staring at my ceiling for the past three nights. 

Which sucks, because on day ten I have another date.

I get to Awsten's house with bags under my eyes and Good Morning Revival blasting through my car stereo. He's on his front porch, wearing his green sweater and looking very soft. I call out to him. He springs up, almost falling over, and practically sprints to my car. Aws is too fragile to be sprinting. I need to protect him at all costs. 

"Hey," he says, pulling open the car door and sliding into the front seat.

"Hey yourself," I say. 

"So, how's it going?"

"Um, pretty good, you know, life and stuff," I say. "D'you wanna listen to something different, or is this-" I gesture to the car stereo "-alright?"

"Put on the fucking Chronicles of Life and Death," he says, and I exchange the CDs.

"How are you doing?" I ask as he puts on his seatbelt.

"Alright," he says. "Not too bad, not too good. I'm bisexual. Let's go to this fucking arcade. Shut up. You'd better be taking me to the arcade."

I smile and floor the accelerator. 

We drive silently-at least until Awsten spots a fluffy dog. It's really cute, I think to myself, how he gets so excited when he sees fluffy dogs. And cats. And bunnies. And just any small animal in general. He just loves animals. 

When "I Just Wanna Live" starts up, he starts singing along, and I can't help but join him. His voice is such a nice voice, and "I Just Wanna Live" is a kickass song. Awsten's a kickass little man.

"Play it again," he asks when it ends.

I press the replay button and live the experience a second time, just Awsten and recorded Joel Madden through a car stereo.

And by the time that one ends, we are there. It's too soon. I get the urge to stay in the car with him and sing some more. But we have a date. Plus Ty's expecting us.

As I pull into the parking space in front of the arcade, he tugs on my sleeve.

"Come on, come on, come on!"

"Well, someone's hyped," I say, chuckling, and hop out of the car.

"Let's go!" He speedwalks to the arcade doors and pushes on one, getting it open on his third try. I grin and hold it for him, wondering if I ever will again. 

I will. I could never hurt him like that. 

"Hey, Ty," I say as we enter, and the guy at the ticket counter waves back to me. 

"Sup, Geoff."

Awsten takes off for the back of the arcade, blazing right past the ticket counter, and slows to a stop at the fuckboy games. The first-person shooters only the dudebros and four-year-olds like. That's different. I didn't know he was an elitist gamer. I follow him as best I can to the game he seems to want to play.

"Aws, we...we kinda need game tokens."

"Do you really think I wanna play this?" He smirks, but quickly sobers. "I asked to come here because everyone knows no one comes to arcades on Thursday mornings."

"They don't?"

"Okay, except you. But you're different." He pauses. "Anyway, I need to talk to you."

Fuck. 

I've only heard that phrase from a significant other once, and after that conversation I was single. Okay, Zakk was a dick, but I was unrealistically emotionally attached to him. The words are the first symptom of a dying relationship.

"What-what about?" I ask, shifting my weight between my feet.

"Us," he says.

"What about us?"

Awsten takes a deep breath. "I've been thinking. I've honestly been thinking way too much."

Those are the second symptom.

"Geoff, I'm so fucking sorry. But I haven't been completely honest with you." He drops his gaze to his feet. "I've-I've had cold feet since day one."

Remembering how he acted the first day we met, our first date, after everything, I can't find any signs of that from him. "What?" 

"I'm really sorry," he says. "Don't get me wrong, I really like you, but..."

"But what?"

"But I don't know how I feel about the commitment aspect of this all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well-" he brings a hand to his head "-I've been going back and forth, I guess. Like some days I'm totally feeling us, like as a couple, and then some days I don't feel anything. And I-I don't want to do that to you. I don't want you to be with someone who can't make up his fucking mind on his feelings, you know?"

"Aws, I..."

"I feel so shitty for doing this." He brings his eyes up, and they're starting to go red. "But I don't want you to be with me. You deserve the world, you deserve so much better than me. You deserve to be with someone who loves you all the fucking time."

"Awsten-"

"You're such an amazing human being, and I hope you never forget that. When we met, I was so drawn to you-platonically, romantically, aesthetically, sexually, whatever! I just wanted to be near you. But I realized I didn't feel that all the time. I swear, this has nothing to do with you."

My eyes are stinging. I look down at the ugly arcade carpeting. "Awsten, I get that. I understand."

He's not done. "It wasn't just when I was alone. Sometimes I'd start feeling like that even when I was with you and I hate myself for that. Like that one time we went to Nadalrad Park and got pastries at that little bakery, I just suddenly started thinking too much and not feeling anything and I couldn't make myself do what I usually did around you on instinct. Same thing with the morning after the fourth of July, which sounds so dicky because you spilled your guts to me and I'd never liked you more than I did that night. I'm so sorry."

"Awsten, it's alright, I'm alright with that-"

"You shouldn't be. You should have higher standards."

"No, Aws, I'm just as bad," I blurt. 

"Huh?"

I breathe in and try to meet his eyes. "Uh, for the past couple weeks I've been thinking about what our relationship would be like when I went off to college and I asked Derek what I should do and he said long distance relationships aren't worth it and I've been awake at night wondering whether I should...you know...break up with you." 

"You should."

"No...I kept telling myself I wouldn't, I couldn't."

"After all this has been said..." he glances around the arcade and rubs his eyes, "...aren't we better off on our own?"

"Aws, I'd never...I'd never be better off on my own," I say, the words catching in my throat. 

"You're better off alone than with me," he says.

"Does this mean..."

"I'm so sorry, Geoff." He turns away.

"Awsten?"

He's started to walk to the door.

"Awsten!"

My breathing speeds up, yet he still doesn't answer. I feel I'm running out of time with every step he takes.

"Awsten Knight!"

Showing no sign of slowing, he passes the ticket counter and comes to the door.

Without so much as a hint of the familiar bounce in his step, he exits the arcade and starts down the sidewalk toward nowhere I know of. He doesn't have a ride home, I remember, but he keeps walking.

And I am left standing by the two-token first-person shooter games.


	21. Why Is There Twenty-One?

It's not real. 

I won't accept it, I won't believe it, everything is the same as it always is. But Awsten's not at the pool the next day. His small friend Otto walks in and sets his towel down, like always, and the hipster mom breaks out floaties, like always, but Awsten's not there.

One thing that grounds me, though, is that Derek has been on locker-room-floor-scrubbing duty every day this week. This is a. something out of the ordinary and b. something that makes me feel a lot better about my field of work. If I concentrate on that, I tell myself, maybe I'll forget about Awsten.

Okay, maybe not. But at least I have a therapy session this afternoon.

My shift is the same as every other shift I've had. Screaming children, asshole teenagers, jaded moms, the only thing different is my emotional state. Nobody drowns (that I know of) and I'm sunburned and lethargic by the time the shift ends. 

Ryan is waiting outside the pool gates when I leave for my house, presumably for something relating to Derek Discanio's mouth around his baby dick. I hurry past him, only slightly envious that he's in a relationship. It's not even the free blowjobs-in fact, the thought itself makes me want to puke all over the sidewalk-it's more the fact that he has someone who is his. Derek is there for him, at least I hope so or their couplehood isn't going to last long.

Goddamn it. 

If I didn't have therapy this afternoon, maybe I'd call Derek and ask him what he does after a breakup. But it waits until tomorrow, because I have to make time for a lady telling me how to cope with my fucked-up life. Not that I mind. Go to therapy. It's good for you.

Come the next day and I have to wake up at five to get to the locker room with Derek. 

Why do I sign up for this shit?

Because I'm closer to Derek than I am to any of my other coworkers, that's damn why.

Today I arrive before him. Surprising-since he's so devoted to lifeguarding I always expect him to be here at all hours of the day. He eventually arrives though, popping out of the back of a dark green SUV I don't recognize. His hair is wet, his face red, his clothes rumpled and mismatched. It's a bit disconcerting, but I smile and wave to him anyway.

"Sup, Geoff," he mutters, brushing through the pool deck, stumbling over every other crack in the concrete.

"Hello," I say as he shoves open the door. "You alright?"

"Huh?" He stops halfway through the doorway. "Oh, yeah, I'm good."

"Uh, well, okay," I say, and hand him a mop.

"Actually, bro, can you mop today? I've done it way too much this week."

"Uh, sure," I say, taking the mop from him. He bends down to start moving towels into the dirty towel bag. Don't ask. 

We work in silence, save for the occasional slosh of my mop in its bucket and clatter of a bathroom stall door opening. I'm unsure why I haven't talked to him more, especially now when I really do need the relationship advice. Derek's right there, and I'm sad and don't want to pick up any more unhealthy coping mechanisms.

My therapist, I admit, was actually pretty helpful yesterday. She told me not to isolate myself any more, which I really do need to stop doing. She says I need to reach out to other people when something's messing me up, not keep it all to myself and cut off all contact to society. 

"Hey, dude."

I look up, a bit startled. "What's up?"

"This is boring me to death, do you mind if I put on music or something?"

"Not at all, go ahead."

Derek clanks with something out of my field of vision, and moments later a booming guitar chord fills up the musty locker room. 

"Who is this?" I ask, not recognizing the song.

"Paramore," he says. "You don't listen to them?"

"Um, sometimes I do," I say, trying to bring one of their song titles to my memory. Misery Business? That's Paramore, right?

"I love them," he says. "They're one of my all-time favorite bands. Get Riot. You'd like them."

"Maybe I will," I say, and turn my attention to a particularly nasty stain on the floor.

It takes a damn fucking long time, but eventually the locker room is presentable enough to display to the public. Derek has cleaned up all the towels and put out nice, fresh new ones, and thanks to my incredible skill, the floor no longer looks like a murder scene. I volunteer to take the cleaning supply cart back to the cupboard on my own, but Derek asks to come with. "You know, just in case you need protection," he says.

"If it makes you happy," I say, and start pushing the cart.

"So..." he says after a few minutes, "how's it going?"

"Uh, kinda terrible, but I'm good," I say. "You?"

"Me too. What's up with you?"

I bite the bullet and say, "How do you get over a breakup?"

"Whoa," he says. "You broke up with someone?"

"He broke up with me."

"Shit," he says. "Well, don't do drugs, and put yourself first. Yanno, the normal self-care shit. Take showers, eat well, stay hydrated, listen to loud angry music, the basics. I mean, that's usually what I do."

"I do all that anyway."

He smiles. "Do it more." 

"Alright," I say as I stop the cart and fumble for the supply closet door handle. "Thanks a bunch, man."

"No problem," he says. "I'll text you later, I have something I need to ask you too." He turns to go, but instead of walking out through the front gate, he's headed towards the back of the pool.

"Um, Derek?"

He looks back at me. "What?"

"Where are you going?"

"Uh, I have some stuff I gotta take care of," he says, and walks away faster. I shrug and go out to the parking lot. 

Derek said loud angry music, so I put on Sum 41 and figure that's good enough. I can't concentrate on Deryck Whibley's beautiful voice, though-all I can do is wonder what in-real-life Derek wanted to ask me. I don't even have any guesses as to what it could be, wondering what he could possibly want from me is literally the only thing I can do.

I've been on the road for approximately ten minutes when I realize two things. One: it doesn't take anywhere close to ten minutes to get home. Two: I'm on Awsten's street. 

Cursing aloud, I make a U-turn into oncoming traffic and slam the gas pedal into oblivion. Fuck my life. I don't want to see him at all, don't want to see any trace of him. 

Yet I also want him to be my entire existence. I want him to be with me and never leave, ever.

But I can't have that, I guess.

It takes me an extra ten minutes to get back to my own house, and when I do I stumble up to my bedroom and collapse on my bed, not even bothering to take my shoes off. I can survive a few black stains on my bed frame. 

About half an hour passes before I remember Derek wanted something from me. I dig around in my front pocket and pull out my phone, wondering why I didn't get it earlier.

My phone was off. Sighing heavily, I turn it on and open up my texts.

From twenty or so minutes ago:

D: Am I gay?


	22. Twenty-Two?

G: I don't know. Do you like boys and only boys?

D: I like one boy.

G: Do you also like girls?

D: Yeah, I think so.

G: Then you're not gay.

D: But I like a boy.

G: You're only gay if you don't like girls at all, just boys.

D: I get it now. Thanks.

G: Any time.

I set my phone down and burst out laughing. Of course that would be Derek's burning question. God, he's such a fuckboy it's almost comical at times; I can't help but allow his suffering to warm my cold, dead heart. 

He doesn't respond, and I wonder if he's gone to tell Ryan that he's not gay. Probably. I grin and tell myself I should get up and do something.

Three hours of Legend of Zelda later, I go and check my phone again. Derek's messaged me again.

D: I like guys.

I spend an inappropriately long time pondering what I should say to that.

G: Me too.

D: Dude, I'm trying to come out.

G: Oh.

D: So I like guys and girls and Ryan and I are together.

G: I know.

D: Wait, how?

G: I pay attention. Congratulations on your self-discovery!

D: Is there a name for it?

G: For what?

D: You know, liking guys and girls.

G: You're bisexual. It's sometimes called bi for short.

D: Honestly, thank you so much.

G: You're seriously welcome.

I have a moderately nice rest of the day playing video games and basically just being a massive geek.

And that's pretty much all I do the day after, too, at least until I have to go be a receptionist in the pool office with Jenna. Because she's Jenna, she's there twenty minutes early, already almost halfway through a massive stack of papers. "Hey, Geoff."

"Hello," I say, taking my seat in the chair of dishonor by the phone. 

"So," she says, not looking up, "how's it going?"

"Uh, alright, you?"

"I'm doing well." She straightens out her stack of paper. "I got a promotion. I'm the office manager now."

"Cool! What do you do?"

"Exactly the same thing as before, but with a cooler name." She smiles and puts her paper back in its drawer. 

I nod. "I see."

"It also means that if someone who calls asks for the manager, you can give them me and you wouldn't be wrong." She takes out another stack of paper. "That's a bonus for you, I guess."

"Hell yeah, it's a bonus for me," I say, half a second before the phone rings. 

I roll my eyes and answer it. It's an elderly man asking for someone named Barbara Elvinshlockgeimer.

It's a long afternoon full of stupid people and prank callers. Jenna and I are finally packing up when I hear a loud crunch outside.

Not paying much attention to it, I put away another few stacks of paper when Jenna peers out the window. "Um, someone hopped the fence a few minutes ago, it looks like. I'll be back."

I don't think much of it and say "Have fun." It's probably just a teenager going to vandalize some property. 

The phone rings. I sigh and pick it up.

"Hi, is this the pool?" It's a bored female voice, probably a mom calling for a birthday party. 

"Yes, this is the Houston Community Pool, how can we help you?" I ask as I grope the reception desk for the rulebook. 

"Yeah, can I reserve the pool for Saturday afternoon from one to five? It's my son's fourth birthday party."

"I'm sorry," I begin, flicking to the right page in the rulebook, "but we can't host private events at this pool."

There is a scream. It's not from the mom. It's from outside. It's Jenna. My heart leaps into my throat and I stand, rushing for the window.

The mom has said something, and it takes a moment for me to remember it was a plea. "That's just our policy," I say absently, searching the darkness outside for Jenna.

"I want to speak to the manager."

Jenna is by the diving board, preparing to jump into the pool. In the lamplight her face is a mask of total fear, so unlike her normal face it's scary. There's someone at the bottom, that's the only thing that could make Jenna, of all people, jump into a pool fully clothed. 

"Did you hear me?"

"The manager is busy right now, sorry," I sputter as Jenna disappears below the pool's surface. 

"I'll wait," says the mom, with the exasperated quality of a condescending schoolteacher. 

"I'm-I'm putting you on hold," I say.

"Don't you dare put me on hold until I have spoken to your manager!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am-"

"No, you are staying on this line!"

Derek bursts through the locker room door, a float thing in hand, Ryan close behind. Why is Ryan here? They stop by the diving board, staring anxiously into the water.

"Where is the manager?"

"I told you she's busy," I say.

Jenna's head pops up above the surface. Derek kneels by the pool and sticks his hands into the water, grabbing at something the diving board blocks from my view.

"Look, ma'am-"

"No, I don't care what she's doing, you can bring her out."

"I really can't," I say as Derek heaves a pair of legs onto the pool deck.

Close behind him, Jenna pushes the rest of the person up and pulls herself out of the water with one fluid motion. Ryan has his cell phone out, Derek's hands are on the person's chest, and the mom is yelling at me.

I bite my lip and slam the phone down. 

The mom and her kid's birthday party can wait, I decide as I dart outside. I take off my sweater while walking, in case Jenna or someone needs it, and stop dead in my tracks when I see the kid being rescued. 

I know that green sweater.

"Geoff, what are you doing?" shouts Derek. "Come on!"

I clear my head and run to them, minding the patches of water on the deck. Now that I'm closer, I can hear what Ryan's saying. He's obviously talking to a 911 operator. My heart skips a beat. "What can I do?"

"I dunno," says Derek as I take a knee next to Awsten.

"Fuck you!" belts Jenna, more upset than I've seen her. "Geoff, take the poor kid's pulse."

"Alright," says Derek, and I nod and take Awsten's hand.

His fingers are cold, his wrists are cold, his blood is cold, everything is cold. My breath catches in my throat, and I shove my own consciousness away and blindly press two fingers onto the vein just below his palm. 

I feel his skin, I feel the bones of his wrist, I feel the edge of a tendon. I don't feel a pulse.

Panicking, I move my fingers to the other side of his wrist. For a moment I feel something-a twitch, maybe the beginnings of a beat-but it fades as soon as it comes. I push up his dripping wet sleeve and slide my hand up to his elbow, pressing down, desperately searching for a sign of life. All is still. There's nothing.

My fingers come away from his arm bloody. 

I take a harder look at him and instantly notice the fresh cuts along his wrist, all the way to his elbow.

He did this on purpose.

Derek continues to do CPR on Aws, and I try his other wrist. It's as motionless as the first one. I move my fingers up his entire arm, praying to find something there. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.


	23. Twenty-Three?

I sit back on my heels, breathing deeply, my ears picking up the approaching sirens. The sound cuts through the air as it nears, pulsating with every wail. Derek is unfazed and keeps pressing on Awsten's chest.

The sirens stop and I look up. There's an ambulance parked outside with a swarm of people getting off it. Two of them are pushing a stretcher, the rest carrying various torture devices, all stony-faced and dead-eyed. They give me chills and I reach for Awsten's wrist again.

"Out of the way," snaps one of the paramedics, and Derek and I jump back. They get right to work on Awsten-taking off his shirt, slamming hands down on his ribcage, breathing on his face as one does. He's more fragile than I've ever seen him before, with his sickly pale skin and jutting bones and immobile body. It hurts just looking at the way his chest gives under the pressure of the paramedics. There's no way his ribs are intact.

"What's his name?" asks one of them between compressions, as another turns to Ryan.

"Awsten Knight," I sputter. "A-W-S-T-E-N."

"Thanks." The medic goes back to their work. Ryan is still in conversation with the other one, but I can't make out what they're saying.

Holding my breath, I glance at Jenna. She's shaking like hell-understandably so, she's dripping wet and probably as shocked as me. Her eyes meet mine, and we exchange a look. A look that says "Fuck."

A clatter sounds behind me, and I jump, but it's only the two medics with the stretcher. They're bringing it closer so they can get Awsten on it. I bite my lip as they grab Awsten's skinny legs and haul him up, repositioning him so he's on his side, covering him with a pathetic excuse for a blanket. 

Quickly, they start pushing him away, back to the ambulance they came from.

I feel sick to my stomach as they leave the parking lot, my vision blurring and my hands trembling wildly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone stand up, and feel a wet fingertip on my shoulder. "Geoff." 

"Jenna."

"He's going to be alright," she says. 

My voice is hardly a whisper. "No."

"Come on, get up," she says, holding out her hand. I take it and pull myself to my feet.

"Jenna?"

"What?"

"Do you want my jacket?"

She glances at her feet. "Sure." 

I hand her my jacket and she wraps it around herself. It's massive on her. It reminds me of how Awsten looked in my clothes.

"Thanks," she says, messing with the zipper.

"I-" My voice breaks. "I'm going to see him."

"Geoff, are you alright?" asks Derek. 

I turn around and take a few steps toward the parking lot. 

"Wait!"

Sighing, I look back.

"Didn't you walk here?"

"Oh. I did," I say.

"I'll drive," offers Ryan. 

Derek stares at him. "You sure?"

"Well, yeah," says Ryan. "I don't know that guy, but he seems to be important to that other guy."

"Geoff," says Derek.

"Geoff," echoes Ryan. "But anyway, I was a dick to him before and this is the least I can do. Also one of the paramedics told me where they're taking that kid. So yeah, I'll do it."

"Really?" I ask. "You'd actually..."

"Yes," says Ryan. "If Derek can come with."

"Sure," I say, and turn to Jenna. "What about you?"

She shifts her weight between her feet. "I guess so, yeah."

"Come on," says Ryan, clapping his hands. "I'm seventeen, I don't drive that fast."

Moments later, I am in the backseat of Ryan's white suburban mom minivan next to Jenna, with Derek riding shotgun and Ryan inching down the street. He wasn't wrong.

Jenna's still shivering, but she looks better since I gave her my jacket. Less likely to pass out from the cold. That's a good sign, I think. I can't help but wonder what she's feeling. Probably pretty shitty, considering she had a crush on Awsten and I swooped in and took him away and now he's tried to take himself away and she never even got to talk to him once. 

I tip my head back against the seat.

The drive is dead silent, save for Jenna's chattering teeth and my nervous breathing. Ryan takes at least fifteen minutes to find the damn place. But when he does, he finds a parking space in thirty seconds. I undo my seatbelt, open the door, and let myself out all in one motion and start walking to the hospital doors without looking to see if my friends and Ryan are following me.

When I walk in, the receptionist looks like she's about to explode. I don't blame her, I mean, I'd explode too if I was a hospital receptionist. There's way too many people here. 

Regardless, I hold my breath and approach her. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" she spits.

"Uh, is there anyone named Awsten Knight here?" I ask.

"Awsten Knight?" she murmurs. "Spell it." I spell his name out and she types something into the computer in front of her. "Yes, an Awsten Knight was brought in just a few minutes ago."

"Can I see him?" I burst out.

"Let me see," she says. "It'll take just a bit."

She types something else into her keyboard. One minute goes by. Two. I rock back and forth between my feet, nervously waiting for an answer.

Finally, she looks up. "I'm afraid you can't. He's still being stabilized. You can wait in the trauma center waiting room."

He's alive.

I bite my tongue to keep from crying and continue listening.

"Go down that hallway-" she points "-and take the first left you see. It's in big letters. You'll know it," she says.

"Thank you so much," I say.

"Of course," she mutters, and I start down the hallway she directed me to. I hear the other three walking behind me; their footsteps echo on the tile floor. It's unnerving. 

The first hallway to the left is marked with a small blue plaque. It's the right hallway. I turn onto it and see the giant sign the receptionist spoke of. 

**TRAUMA CENTER**

Under it, in smaller letters, are labels to the places inside the trauma center. I search out the arrow to the waiting room, and it's literally right next to us. Derek coughs and I see it immediately. "I'm dumb," I mutter, and enter the room.

I was fully expecting to have to split up and take whatever seats were available, but there aren't actually that many people in here and I have no trouble finding four adjacent chairs.

Derek takes the first one. I sit next to him and put my head in my hands. 

"Geoff?" asks Jenna. "You alright?"

"I dunno," I murmur. "It depends."

She doesn't say any more. 

The clatter of the hospital is starting to get to my head. I breathe in, breathe out, trying my hardest to keep it as far away from my consciousness as possible. Screaming. Screaming. Beeps. Concrete wheels on linoleum. The screech of metal on metal. More screaming. It's not real, I think. Just focus on the ugly carpet in front of you and you won't hear it. 

"I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me."

What am I even thinking about? I read the book that's from in eighth grade and hated it. Was it too close to home for me? Probably. I need to stop hardcore relating to fictional characters with messed-up lives and blunt inner dialogue. Then again, that's me. 

The minutes slip away from me as I think about everything except Awsten. I don't know how much time has gone by, I just know what I'm thinking, and I know my neck hurts from staring at the ground. Regardless, even with that constraint, I know it's a fucking long time. 

I shift around in my chair and keep thinking. 

Ryan nudges my shoulder. "Dude, wake up."

"What?" I mutter. 

"Bro, you fell asleep," he says.

"In this noise?" I ask.

"Somehow, yeah," cuts in Jenna.

"Well, it is three in the morning," says Derek.

"But anyway," says Ryan, "they're letting you see that dude you like."

I jolt to full alertness. "Where is he?"

Jenna points at a short, dead-eyed nurse. "She said just to follow her."

The nurse nods. "Yeah, come on, I don't have all night."

"Alright," I say, and stand up. 

"Good luck, Geoff," calls Derek as the nurse speed-walks out of the room, leaving me to catch up.

She hurtles down the hallway. I can understand why; I mean, it is a trauma center on Friday night. Or is it Saturday morning? Whatever. Shit's gotta have gone down.

"You're here to see Awsten Knight, correct?" she asks as we turn a corner. 

"Yeah, I am," I say.

"Good," she says. "I was worried I'd got the wrong guy."

I manage a chuckle. "Well, you didn't. Hey, what's your name?"

"Chloe."

"I'm Geoff, if that matters."

She smiles. "It matters. Now you're a real person. This is the room." Chloe gestures to the closest door. "One second." She opens it and pokes her head in. "Awsten, you've got a visitor."

Distantly, I hear a muffled "Okay, fine." My heart skips a beat, because it's him and he sounds like Awsten through a slab of wood. 

"Go on in," says Chloe, drawing her head out of the doorframe. 

"Oh-alright." Hesitantly, I open the door all the way.

The first thing I notice is the one million, nine hundred eighty-two thousand, four hundred thirty-six different machines he's hooked up to, each of them doing its own thing, making an incessant amount of noise. I wonder how he's slept through it, then realize he probably hasn't. He's wrapping a pair of earbuds around his hand, and even from here I can see his knuckles, disproportionately wider than the rest of his fingers. "Hey, Mom," he says, not looking up. His voice is slightly raspy, like his throat is irritated, and dreary with the knowledge of where he is, but he still sounds like my Awsten Knight.

"Holy-Jesus-Cobra-Starship-you're-not-dead," I say.

He jolts upright. "Geoff-what-why are you here?"

My eyes start to sting, and I move toward his bedside. "How are you?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"I'm-why do you care?" He tilts his head up, and I get my first good look at his face. His eyes are red and his cheekbones too prominent, his skin a sickly shade of grayish-white. I hold back a few tears.

"Because I like you," I stutter. "Uh, like a lot."

"But I don't," he says. "I can't have feelings for you right. I can't do anything right."

"You're wrong," I say.

"No, I'm not," he says, turning away.

"Uh, yeah, you are," I say. "You can do lots of things right."

"Like what?" he spits. "I can't even be in love right."

"Is there a way?" I muse.

"What?" he says sullenly.

"A right way to be in love," I say. 

"Well, I'm supposed to be able to love you all the time," he says, "and never turn down an invitation to go out with you, and feel good whenever you're with me-"

"Wait, wait, wait," I say. "That's not how it works."

"But all I've heard about being in love is like that," he argues. 

"That's wrong," I say, thinking back to when Zakk and I had a healthy relationship. "My first boyfriend-well, things didn't end well for us, but, uh, when we were at our peak, he totally turned down dates because he wasn't feeling it, and you know what I said?"

He looks up. "What did you say?"

"I said 'That's totally chill. Call me back when you're feeling up to go out.' And he called me when he was feeling better, uh, and we went out and had a great time. Um, which I know wouldn't've happened if he'd agreed to go out when he wasn't feeling good. And he was the same for me."

"But you two broke up."

"After what happened to me last year, yeah," I say, "but we lasted until March, and he was my anchor the first few months after summer ended."  
"So he like...made you happy just by being there."

"Not really," I say. "Sometimes I'd, uh, be with him and I'd start getting into my head and not feeling anything for him. And when that happened, um, I'd ask him if I could have a minute to myself, and he'd say 'Sure. Whatever you need,' and I'd step away for a bit and forcibly remind myself that I could trust him a hundred percent, uh, and I'd join him again and we'd have fun. And if I was really feeling shitty we'd reschedule whatever we had planned that day and he'd drive me to my aunt and uncle's."

He shifts around. "Why'd you break up, if that worked out so well for you two?"

"A lot of reasons," I say. "He started, um, smoking, and hanging out with this new group of friends that thought I was a dumb bitch. They just...got to his head. He changed."

Awsten nods and looks down. "You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Nah," I say, smiling. 

"If you take out the going back and forth, and the apathy, and all the shit in my head, I really do like you," he says. 

"I like you a lot too," I say. "It's not too late."

"When will it be too late?"

I reach my hand out, and he places his own in mine. He's got an IV in his hand. It's so weird, feeling cold plastic on his skin and knowing that the same plastic is inside one of his blood vessels. "Never," I say.

Suddenly, he pulls his hand away and laughs.

"What?" I sputter. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't," he chokes, shaking his head, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm just thinking about how this would make a perfect fanfiction love story."

I smile. "It would, wouldn't it?"

He nods and leans in to me. I close the distance, adrenaline pulsing through me, but confident this time.

And suddenly our lips are connected and I don't know what to do with my hands and his heart monitor is going off like crazy and tears are welling up in my eyes because he's alive and he wants to be with me and it's the greatest feeling in the world.


	24. Twenty-Four.

The TSA agent is five feet away from us.

"It's almost time," I whisper to Awsten. 

"I'm gonna miss you like fuck knows," he says. 

I squeeze his hand. "I'll miss you more."

"Not likely," he says, smiling. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks," I say. 

"Are you gonna be okay out there?" he asks. 

"Only if you're okay out here," I say.

"You're too protective," he jokes.

"Hey, I care about you," I say. "Uh, and we're gonna make the long-distance thing work. Fuck Derek."

"Derek?" he asks.

"Co-worker, friend of mine, gave me some bad advice last month. You met him a couple weeks ago, didn't you?" I say, remembering the incident. Just after Aws and I had gotten back together, Derek had suggested a double date. It was...interesting, to say the least.

"Ah, him." He nods. "Yeah, you and I are staying together. I'll text you good morning when I wake up."

"And I'll text you goodnight when I go to sleep," I say. "And I'll get Skype and we'll do it on weekends if we're not busy."

"Yes," he says. "And you'll come visit me on Thanksgiving."

"I will," I say. 

"Geoff, I don't want you to go," he says and takes my hands.

"Hey, we'll be alright," I say. "I won't make any friends at college so I'll have extra time to Skype you."

Awsten rolls his eyes. "Don't do that. Make friends. But I'll fucking miss you."

"Me too. I'll miss you more than my family," I admit. "Promise me you won't...do anything while I'm gone."

"I swear," he says.

"Good," I say, "because if you hurt yourself I'll never stop thinking it's my fault."

"I promise, I'll stay out of the hospital," he says. "I'll listen to my therapist, take my meds, you know, that kind of stuff. I'll be alright."

"And if you ever don't feel like Skyping...?"

"I know, I know, I'll tell you and you'll give me space," he says.

"Glad that's cleared up," I say. "C'mere."

He moves closer to me and I pull him into a hug. Not too tightly, or I'd break his fragile little bones, but enough to feel his body heat on me. His collarbone rubs uncomfortably against mine, but I don't care. He's warm, and that means he's not about to pass out.

I pull back a bit to look into his eyes. His ethereal, different-color eyes. He takes the opportunity to shoot me a massive comical wink, and I groan. "You idiot. Kiss me."

Grinning, he pecks me on the cheek. "You need to shave."

"So _that's_ what I forgot to pack."

"Fuck you, G-spot." He squeezes his arms around me tighter, his bony elbows digging into my back. "Do I really have to let go?" he asks, glancing back at me.

"Uh, unfortunately, my plane leaves for Los Angeles in an hour," I say.

"Don't remind me." He lets go of me and I breathe again. "I know you're gonna be better than everyone else once you get there."

"Probably not, but okay," I say. 

"Damn it, I'm trying to worship you!" he bursts. "Can't you just accept your compliments and let me fall to my knees before you?"

"Um..."

"I'm kidding," he says.

"Oh. I thought you were _serious_ ," I exaggerate. "And thanks. I will be better than almost everybody else."

"Almost?" he asks. "Who could be better than you?"

"Uh, his name is Awsten Knight, and he's really something else..."

"Fuck the shut up," he says, and I laugh. 

"I love you," I say.

"I love you too, you big fluffy asshole."

"That's a disturbing mental image."

"Oh. It is. I'm so sorry. But like, I love you."

I lean in and allow him to close the distance. He kisses me, softly, gently, like the tiny child he is. We're in a public place, so it can't be long, but he does it well. He's a very good kisser. Although, he has had far more experience than me.

The line to go through security is moving along quickly. We don't have any more time.

"You're amazing and I couldn't ever replace you," I whisper in his ear as he pulls away.

"God, I hope so," he says, and I snort.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Yeah, I'm Awsten Knight and I'm okay." He smiles and steps back. "And I can't replace you either. I couldn't ask for anyone like you."

"I can say the same," I say. "Thanks. For everything."

"Thanks for staying with me even though I'm a failure," he says.

"You're the farthest thing from a failure I've ever met." It's my turn to go though the gates.

"I'll miss you," he repeats, and steps away.

"Text me," I say as the TSA agent takes my suitcase and puts it on the conveyor belt.

Awsten walks back to the check-in desks, where Otto/Small Friend is waiting. Together, they meander out of the airport, without looking behind them. I turn my attention forward, to the security guards barking at me to take off my shoes and get my ass though the metal detector so I don't cause an appalled Republican family of four to miss their plane. 

The first thing I do when I get to my gate is download Skype.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! It's over! Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> If anyone cares about me, [here's](https://ask.fm/thekingofshinythings) a link to my Ask.FM, if people still use that and you wanna ask me questions.


End file.
